The Pegasus Tango
by Meloku
Summary: An AU, Save Steve fic. An ancient Atlantian lab yields an interesting artifact while Carson is collaborating with the Hoffans. Rodney and Sheppard decide to try it on their wraith prisoner. Steve/OC/team. Warning: flashbacks and wraith psych exploration
1. Prologue: Hiiissssssss!

**The Pegasus Tango**

A Stargate Atlantis Fan Fic

**Summary:** An AU, Save Steve fic. What if the SGA scientists had found something interesting before exploring Hoff? What if something bizarre had happened a few months after? What if said bizarreness had long-term consequences?

Steve/OC/Team/(eventually Todd)

Warning: flashbacks and wraith-psych exploration.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.

**Prologue: Hiiissssssss!**

(translation: Dammit!)

It was all the glove's fault.

Leather creaked. Supple armor knocked against calf and thigh as coat panels fanned out from a spin and suddenly changed direction. Ivory hair slapped back and chest, white whipping black, as long strands mirrored the coat's action.

That damn glove…!

The wraith wearing the coat swiftly paced the length of the room, hissing viciously as he punched the wall before stalking back the other way. He flexed his fingers, then raked the air with his claws on the next spin.

This wasn't happening!

Knock, slap. Fan, whip. Hair pattered on leather, filling the air with a sound like rain every time the wraith changed course. The soft sound contrasted sharply with the angry pacing of his footsteps. Knock, slap. Fan, whip.

It couldn't be happening! Shouldn't!

Organic walls, blackish-blue and orange-veined, loomed on all sides. The room was barely five strides across. This space. The wraith's personal space… It'd never felt so confining before. A lower, less violent hiss spat past clenched teeth.

Knock, slap. Fan, whip.

Had the room always been this small?

Knock, slap. Fan, whip.

"HIIISSSSSSSSSS!"

The wraith spun mid-pace, stopping in the middle of the room with a resounding snap of leather. Fingers flexed as ivory hair pattered to a halt. His yellow eyes darted around the space, unfocused, looking beyond the familiar surroundings, as if seeing something else. Abruptly, the wraith's head whipped towards the door. His gaze fastened on a point slightly left of the framing chitin's base.

A hiss, barely audible, marred the lengthening silence.

He shouldn't— He couldn't—

The wraith spun furiously. His pacing resumed.

Knock, slap. Fan, whip. Knock, slap. Fan, whip.

That damn glove!

Knock, slap. Fan, whip.

What the HELL was he supposed to do?!


	2. Chapter 1: Enter the Glove

Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.

**Chapter One: Enter The Glove**

_**4 years earlier**_

"You sure about this?" Stepping ahead of the marine squad, Major Sheppard waved his hand over the ancient crystals. The door shooshed open. "I mean, you don't even know what it is."

Rodney McKay, Atlantis's head scientist, scoffed as he followed Sheppard into the stairwell. "No, I'm only 85% sure—"

"That means you're still 15% UNsure."

Rodney snorted. "And in my case, the tiny number is so frequently the fraction that matters. Since when does a measly 15 turn you skeptic?"

"McKaayyy—"

"I mean, it's not like he'll care."

"McKay!" Sheppard stopped and turned. Firearms bumped, echoing noisily in the enclosed space as the escorting marines clattered to a halt.

Rodney almost walked into him. "What?"

"It's not that simple."

Exasperated, Rodney rolled his eyes ceiling-ward. "It's a GLOVE!"

Tilting his head, Sheppard stared at him disapprovingly. "It's an ancient device."

"Helloooo," Rodney laughed, "what part of GLOVE isn't simple?"

"The ancient part!" Shaking his head, Sheppard continued down the stairs. "Why store a glove in an air-tight, water-proof, pressure-reinforced lock box?"

"Because they liked it?" Metallic footsteps filled the air as Rodney hurried to catch up. "The ancients preserved everything. Take the plumbing, for example. Or the wiring. We've got 10,000 year old dead plants and piles of vintage off-duty clothing—"

"Only in sections that didn't flood." At Major Sheppard's gesture, the marines moved to flank them. "Look, McKay. I'm not trying to be difficult. I wanna try it too. My point is we don't know whether that THING does stuff yet."

"And my point is that this THING," Rodney waved the controversial accessory in Sheppard's face, "doesn't DO anything. It's exactly what it seems."

Sheppard batted the glove away, muttering, "Unlike everything else here…"

Rodney stuffed it back in his pocket. "Besides. Elizabeth gave the go-ahead. You can't stop me—"

"No, I can't. I'm just here to save his butt if it backfires."

"It won't backfire."

Sheppard shrugged. "In that case, I'll escort you safely to the infirmary."

"Must you say it so ominously?"

Sheppard kept his mouth shut, navigating the stairwell's flights and landings. The marines' gear and footsteps clattered rhythmically behind him.

Rodney pressed forward, jostling Sheppard's elbow. "Hey," he sounded unsure, suddenly, "you don't think he'll refuse, do you? Because this discussion's moot, if he refuses. We won't learn a thing. If he refuses—"

"I know, Rodney. It'll set back our plan to accelerate our investigation of the species." Having recited Carson's favorite complaint by heart, Sheppard eyed Rodney with poorly concealed amusement. "In other words, it really doesn't matter."

The scientist sputtered indignantly. "Of course it matters! It's a perfect opportunity! If Carson gets him to cooperate—"

"Quiet, Rodney," Sheppard slowed his pace, stopping before a closed door.

"I won't be quiet! You're not taking this seriously—"

"Oh, I'm taking it seriously." Rounding on McKay, he pointed at the entryway. "This is our goal. You know, the place we're traveling to?"

"How could I forget? My knees are jellifying from all the stairs."

Sheppard continued as if McKay hadn't interrupted, "The moment we open this, he can hear every word you say."

"Oh." Clutching his data pad, Rodney looked at the door. Silence engulfed the landing. Rodney stretched his hand towards the crystal controls, then snatched it back. He turned to Sheppard nervously. "Maybe you should do the talking."

Sheppard nodded pleasantly as McKay moved, placing the Major between himself and the door. "I was planning on it." He beckoned to the squad. The marines pressed forward, clustering behind the uneasy scientist. Two stepped up to flank Sheppard, carrying long-barreled, bayonet-tipped stunners.

Sheppard focused on the door. "Ready Ford?"

The good-looking, dark-skinned marine on his right smiled as he pat the glowing body of his scavenged wraith weapon. "Ready for anything, sir."

"And anything's what you'll get." Sheppard's hand lazily hovered above the door's crystal sensors. "On my signal." The lazy hand dropped, and the metal wall shooshed open, revealing a dimly lit flight of stairs.

The eight men filed silently down the metal steps, stopping only when they entered the dark alcove that marked their goal. Following previously agreed-upon instructions, the scientist and the marines moved to the walls, letting Major Sheppard advance alone. Rodney fidgeted, watching with trepidation as his friend walked confidently into the brighter room at the alcove's end.

Atlantis's military commander paused in the entrance to the sparsely furnished space. He approached the cage that dominated the middle of the chamber slowly, letting the shadows thrown by the horizontal bars expose his face in increments, bit by exaggeratedly drawn out bit. It was a dramatic approach, but Sheppard suspected the silent figure standing in the cage's center with it's back to him, actually enjoyed the drama. Secretly, of course. Their unwilling guest would never deign to admit it. He never deigned to do anything. Except, you know, talking. He was good at that.

Especially the talking without saying useful stuff bit.

The shadows' crept inexorably upward, illuminating Sheppard's blue eyes and coming to rest on his mahogany muss of spiky hair. As they stilled, the silent figure turned its head, glancing Sheppard's way as if only now aware of his presence. After a second or two of scrutiny, it looked away, feigning disinterest.

Sheppard suppressed an urge to laugh at the elaborate ruse. He'd been detected the instant the door shooshed. Eyes on the prisoner, he circled the cage. Following a script they'd played out daily for almost a month, Sheppard didn't stop until he was standing before their guest, a spot directly opposite where he'd entered. This was the farthest he could be forced to walk in here. Turning, he fully faced the cell's occupant.

The captive wraith raised his eyes, finally meeting Sheppard's own.

Ignoring the intense, unblinking stare, Sheppard studied him. The bluish light from above had altered the wraith's appearance strikingly, making him resemble his race's namesake more than the Pegasus Galaxy's bane usually did. His black coat's faceted shoulders glittered dangerously, and his long, ivory hair was streaked with blue highlights. The tinted light bled the color from his skin, making his pale, lichen complexion appear white. All in all, he looked about the same as yesterday.

Except… Was that a hint of curiosity flitting across the ghostly face? Curiosity inspired by the large number of people in the other room, perhaps?

Sheppard smiled. Today's encounter might actually go well. "Now," he said, unvaryingly continuing their daily routine, "whenever I come down here, what's the first thing I always ask?" He held a finger up to emphasize the 'first.'

The wraith's thin lips twitched in annoyance.

Major Sheppard watched, unmoving, as the intense stare shift to his mockingly pointed finger. The next reaction would be telling…

After an interminable, and ill-boding, silence, the pale irises flicked to his face again. Slowly and deliberately, the vertical pupils slid towards the alcove. Then, just as slowly, they slid back. The wraith cocked its head.

"I am your death."

Sheppard suppressed a grin. Today was a cooperation day. Clucking his tongue, he frowned disapprovingly and gave an exaggerated shake of his head. "Sorry. I'm afraid I still prefer Steve."

Hissing with disgust, the wraith, Steve, spun away and began striding along the inner perimeter of his square cell. Winking at the alcove, Sheppard mirrored the move, circling outside the cage and quickening his steps to keep pace with him. Like the drama and curiosity, this stalking game was something the wraith responded to. Sheppard generally ignored it for precisely that reason, but, knowing Atlantis was about to make a request, he was inclined to indulge the prisoner today as much as possible. Their footsteps echoed as he waited for Steve to make the next move.

The silence between captor and captive stretched. Then…

"What do you want with me?" They'd just completed two circuits.

Sheppard feigned surprise. "Gee, Steve. I thought you had that figured out already. You're always going on about how we won't get information from you."

Violently expelling a puff of air, the wraith curled his lips, baring pointy, translucent teeth. "You won't," Steve hissed, "But you didn't come for information today." He eyed Sheppard suspiciously. "Today's different. Why?"

"No particular reason,' Sheppard shrugged, "Maybe I just wanted to give you the pleasure of my company. You must be getting pretty lonely down here."

"I'm guarded constantly. I assure you, that is not the case."

"Okay, you're not lonely. But you must be bored with the scenery…" Sheppard gestured at the walls. "Black, square," he gestured at the cage, "Light, square. You have to agree, Steve. This place is a bit monotonous."

Steve froze, momentum making his long, black coat brush the cell's lower bars. Eyes widening, he snapped his face towards the alcove. The silhouettes of the marines were distinctly visible against the dim light spilling down the stairs. Without turning, the wraith's focus darted back to Sheppard. "What exactly are you offering?"

Sheppard shrugged, also stopping. "Not much, really. Mostly a change in scenery. If you behave yourself, it might even become a regular change."

"More regular than these pointless visits?"

The major pursed his lips, pretending to consider the question. "I'd say… Roughly equal in regularity. Give or take a bit."

Posture neutrally motionless, the wraith eyed him warily. "I'm listening."

"See, it's like this." Moving closer, Sheppard rested his arms on the outer edges of the horizontal bars and leaned forward companionably. "Our head medical expert, Dr. Beckett, likes you. A lot. He thinks wraith physiology is fascinating. Especially the whole, feeding off human life-force bit." Sheppard pretended not to notice as Steve twitched. The wraith was visibly fighting the urge to lunge at him. "But the problem is, every time he examines you, you're unconscious. And why are you unconscious?"

Steve hissed, balling his feeding hand into a fist.

"Exactly. 'Cause if you weren't unconscious, you'd try to eat him."

"I fail to see this conversation making progress."

"Just bear with me," Sheppard said. "Carson insists he'll get different readings from you if you're not stunned. And he insists the differences in those readings will be important—"

"You wish for me to willingly let this, Carson, examine me?"

Sheppard nodded. "That's the gist of it, yeah."

Blue-washed hair whispered across leather as the wraith turned his head, fully facing his captor again. "And in return? What do you offer me?"

"Relief from monotony." Looking up, Sheppard let his eyes wander across the ceiling. "The sight of the sun. A chance to see a quasi-ancient infirmary. Relief from boredom. New conversational companions." Catching Steve sneering derisively, he fixed the wraith with a knowing stare and played his trump card. "Relief from the constant, pounding headache Carson assures me you're experiencing."

The sneer quickly vanished. Backing off, Steve dropped his eyes and turned away, retreating to the middle of the cell. Eyebrows raised, Sheppard watched the surrender curiously. He'd hit a nerve. The wraith had been rendered senseless frequently recently. They were taking samples for the Hoff project daily, and Carson's predicted side effects for repeated stunning on humans had been right on the mark.

Trailing a hand along the bar he'd been leaning on, the Major circled the cage until he stood before Steve again. Feeding hand tucked to his waist, the wraith had closed his eyes and was pinching the bridge of his nose.

"That bad, huh?" Apparently Carson's wraith side effects were right too.

Steve's multi-tonal reply was quiet, no longer confrontational. "You realize, this Carson would be acquiring information from me?"

Sheppard shrugged, "Doesn't count. Not military. That's the stuff you're interested in hiding." No need to rub salt in.

"I see." A low sigh hissed in the austere room. "What do you want me to do?"

At Major Sheppard's sharp nod, Rodney emerged from the alcove, flanked by Lieutenant Ford and a second marine. Steve looked up. His pale eyes zeroed in on the hated stunners. The tremor of a hastily repressed shudder crossed his face.

Hyper-focused on their dangerous captive, Rodney noticed the tremor instantly. "My God," he stared at the wraith in amazement, "Carson was right. He's scared of the stunners. He doesn't want o be hit again. He—"

"Quiet, McKay!" Sheppard held out a hand.

"Oh, right. Right…" Tucking his data pad under his arm, the scientist fumbled in his pocket, nervously muttering, "I'm not good at the interrogation thing…" Finally snagging the glove, he slapped it into Sheppard's hand. "Here. Take it."

Closing his fingers around the thick fabric, Sheppard stepped to the bars. Shaking out the dark material, he thrust it into the cage, letting it dangle a second before tossing it to the floor. The cell's force field, which had disengaged courtesy of a prearranged signal, reactivated after he withdrew his arm. Catching Steve's eye, he pointed to the limp glove encouragingly. "I want you to put that on."

Not budging, the wraith eyed the foreign object in his cell balefully. "What is it?"

"What does it look like?" Sheppard answered.

Steve glared at him.

"That's actually a fascinating question," interjected Rodney. "See, it's appearance and function are comp—" Noting the Major's disapproving stare, he cut himself off, "Sorry. Shutting up now."

"Good." Sheppard's focus returned to Steve. "It's a restraint."

The wraith's eyes narrowed. "A restraint… That?"

Sheppard smiled pleasantly and nodded. "Yes. A restraint. One cleverly designed to safely, and comfortably, neutralize a wraith feeding hand without impairing mobility." He felt a buzz of satisfaction as Steve began circling the glove. The offer might be accepted. "In short, it's a safety precaution."

"Neutralize?" The half-lidded eyes shot Sheppard's way, scrutinizing him.

"Safely and comfortably." When the suspicious stare continued, the Major shrugged innocently. "Can't have ya eatin' the good doctor."

The wraith crouched, a fluid, controlled movement that made his black coat open, revealing lithely muscled legs and polished boots. The deliberate motion was mirrored by his arms, which he stretched down to retrieve the glove. Grasping a corner of the striated wristband, Steve lifted the material delicately. Without touching it with his feeding hand, he turned it over, peering quizzically at the dull yellow beads decorating its wrist and the thick pads built into the fingertips and palm. Pulling it close, the wraith sniffed, briefly touching the fabric to the thin orifice on each of his cheeks.

Finally lifting his head, Steve snorted disdainfully. "I don't want it."

"Then the deal's off."

"It smells like chemicals. And magnets."

Sheppard's eyes hardened. "You're not leaving this cage conscious without it." He wasn't about to let a feeding hand loose in the infirmary. Steve could be merely feigning cooperation, hoping for an unguarded chance to literally grab a bite to eat. "Carson's a gentle person. He doesn't allow patients to have weapons in his infirmary. Given their deadly properties, feeding hands make him nervous."

"They make other people nervous, too."

"Quiet, Rodney!"

The wraith eyed him calculatingly. An almost palpable tension filled the air as his oval pupils bored into the Major's round ones. Then he looked away. The wraith took a deep breath, letting it out in a low hiss as he stood up. "Very well." Opening the glove's wristband with a flick, Steve's translucently-clawed fingers elegantly disappeared into it. The deadly feeding apparatus followed, its pale skin concealed by a series of quick, deft tugs. Steve curled his lip, looking at Sheppard in disgust. "It doesn't fit," he spat. "This 'restraint' isn't comfortable at all."

"That's because it isn't active yet," Rodney pointed out.

Not bothering to reprimand McKay at this point, Sheppard beckoned for the wraith to come to the bars. When Steve grudgingly complied, he raised his right hand. Ford and Geerman moved forward, stunners at the ready.

Startled, the wraith froze, staring at his captors accusingly.

"They won't shoot without reason." As Sheppard finished speaking, he waved his hand through the wall of the cage, demonstrating that the force field was off. "Okay. Before we go upstairs, I need you to stick your hand out."

"I think not."

"All I'm gonna do is touch it, Steve." Amused, Sheppard turned his palms up, showing they were empty. "See? Not holding anything."

"You look like you're doing a coin-trick," muttered Rodney. "Nothing in my pocket, nothing up my sleeve, nothing in the—"

"McKay, I think you should be quiet," Lieutenant Ford warned.

Steve's pale eyes darted from the bayonet-tipped stunners to their grim-faced owners. Passing over the fidgeting, chastened scientist, they fastened on Sheppard.

Sheppard concentrated on looking innocent.

The wraith finally stepped forward and stretched his feeding hand through the bars. Slowly and deliberately, and careful not make any sudden movements, Sheppard reached out and tapped his left index finger firmly on the glove's wristband.

The effect was instantaneous. A low hum exploded into the air, and Steve sprang backwards, hissing as the yellow beads blazed with light. The wristband contracted around his skin, slipping beneath his leather coat's arm guard.

"Rodneeeyyy!" Sheppard yelled. "What the Hell is it that THING doing?"

The wraith scrabbled futilely at the pulsating accessory.

The scientist peered over Ford's shoulder in fascination. "Don't worry! It's supposed to do that!" He frowned, "At least, I think it is…" Rodney nodded, bolstering his confidence. "Yeah, it is." Grinning idiotically, he clapped Sheppard's shoulder, "Look, it's molding itself to his hand! One size fits all. It's designed perfectly—"

"What do you mean, 'molding itself to his hand!?' You said it was a simple glove!" Sheppard glared at McKay angrily.

Rodney sputtered. "Well, you said yourself, it's an ancient device. It had to do something cool. Simple gloves are boring, right—"

Ignoring McKay, Sheppard lunged to the bars. "Open this door! Steve, stay calm! It won't hurt you." He cursed, muttering, "At least it better not. Carson still needs him."

"Everyone knows, comfy things fit better—"

The atmosphere tingling hum abruptly ceased, and Steve froze, his ungloved fingers splayed haphazardly across the back of his feeding hand. The light blazing from the yellow beads faded to a warm, dimly glowing amber.

The cell door chose the moment of unexpected stillness to slide open.

Panting heavily, Steve straightened and turned to face it.

A pair of stunner bayonets thrust towards him briefly before withdrawing at a wave from Major Sheppard. Somehow he didn't think the disheveled wraith would bother making the requisite escape attempt.

Sheppard was right. Ignoring the open door, Steve let go of his feeding hand and looked down at it. The glove had, indeed, molded to fit its wearer. It looked as trimmed, sleek, and tailored as the rest of the wraith's outfit. In fact, it was so form fitting, Sheppard doubted it could be taken off. At least, not without deactivating it. During Steve's frenzied assault, the fabric had demonstrated remarkable rip resistance…

"See? What did I tell you?" Grinning, Rodney gestured to the cage as if it was a white board. "Wraith restrained."

Lieutenant Ford swallowed uneasily. "That was disturbing, sir."

"You did say you were ready for anything," muttered Sheppard. Swarming out of the alcove, the marines clustered around the open door as he stepped into the cage. "You ready for the trip upstairs, Steve? Carson's waiting for us."

The wraith didn't respond.

Sheppard took another step, frowning. "Steve?"

Briefly glancing at him, Steve refocused on his hand, staring like he'd never seen it before. As the Major watched, he poked it repeatedly, each time snatching his ungloved fingers away as if they'd been burned. After a silent minute of this, he switched to tapping the pads covering the enzyme-injecting hooks in his fingertips. Then, slowly, he drew a finger across the padded palm, over his feeding slit. Gasping, the wraith snapped his feeding hand back, staring in shock as he held it away from his body, looking, (at least to Sheppard), as if he had no idea what to do with it.

Slightly wigged out, Sheppard stared, skeptically. "Steve, are you okay?"

A dazed glare was his answer, and the wraith's feeding hand twitched like he was resisting the urge to slam it onto Sheppard's chest. Breath hitching, Steve lowered his eyes and wrapped the displaced appendage over his stomach. Still panting slightly, he stalked out of the cell. He paused when he came abreast of Rodney.

Cocking his head, Steve snarled at him. "Is it your fault I'm wearing this?"

Intimidated by the irate glare, Rodney began babbling. "Well, I s-suppose. Since I found it— Indirectly, yes. I found it, so yes. Indirectly, mind—"

The pale lips twisted, expelling a barking huff of shock. "Then I hate you," Steve spat. Whirling away, he stalked towards the alcove, surrendering himself to the clutches of escorting marines. Stunners ready, Ford and Geerman hurried to catch up.

Rodney stared after the partially obscured wraith in surprise. He fell into step beside the Major. "Should I be worried by that? He never spoke to me before."

Sheppard shrugged as they left the holding cell. "Look at it this way," he quipped. "At least you're not the first he'll feed upon."

An angry hiss echoed from the stairwell. "He is now!"

Sheppard winced, "Ouch."


	3. Chapter 2: The Glove Giveth

Thank you for reading so far! Chapter Two's finally up. Sorry for the wait. It was a bit longer than I initially expected. (I tweaked a few places in Chapter One also, nothing big though.)

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.

**Chapter Two: The Glove Giveth**

_**3 years, 50 weeks earlier**_

Getting up, Carson abandoned the collection of microscopes, cell cultures, and test tubes cluttering his workbench and hurried to the entrance of Atlantis's infirmary. He ushered the newly-arrived marines and their alien ward to a sunny spot by the expansive room's largest window. "An' how's our unwilling guest today?" Carson asked, gesturing for the surrounded wraith to seat himself on the waiting bed.

Steve glanced at his heavily armed escort, then at the nearby, ocean view. After taking in the whole infirmary, his greenish eyes finally flicked to the expectantly watching doctor. The wraith cocked his head. "As well as can be anticipated," he bared his teeth in a slightly disturbing, but pleasantly-intended, grin. "Perhaps if I were allowed a bath?"

Carson blinked, surprised. "A bath, ye say?"

"Yes. I'm beginning to feel distinctly unclean."

Thinking for a moment, the doctor shrugged. "Ah don't see why not. Ah'll ask the Major and Elizabeth for ye. Shouldn't be too hard tae arrange."

Apparently satisfied with that answer, the wraith pulled back his non-glove-obstructed sleeve and settled himself on the bed. Breathing deeply, he hissed in contentment as he was engulfed by the sunlight he'd requested yesterday.

-------------------------------------------------

In Elizabeth Weir's office, the head of the Atlantis expedition reached for the laptop displaying live video feed from the infirmary and snapped the volume off.

"I see what you mean, Major," Elizabeth said. She straightened and turned to face the assembled team. "He certainly appears docile."

Sheppard snapped his fingers. "Docile! That's the word I was looking for!"

"A little TOO docile, if you ask me," Rodney muttered.

Dr. Weir raised an eyebrow. "Care to elaborate, Rodney?"

Agitated, Dr. McKay lowered his data pad. "He went from, 'I hate you! You're the first I'll feed upon,' to ignoring me completely in the space of a day. Grudges don't evaporate like that. That wraith's experiencing serious mood swings—"

"And you're just an expert on wraith mood swings," Sheppard said.

Rodney stiffened. "No need to be sarcastic. I was merely pointing out that—"

Sheppard started talking over him. "That, aside from one exception—"

"One NOTABLE exception."

"—the prisoner has been treating you the way he always has."

"Just because YOU don't find random death threats disturbing—"

"Major Sheppard has a point, Rodney," Elizabeth interrupted, "Unresponsiveness has been our guest's normal reaction to you. Why does it bother you now?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because now I'm the only one he IS ignoring?"

Elizabeth observed her senior scientist seriously. "Explain."

Rodney sighed in annoyance, "Well, he watches everybody else."

"Yes," Dr. Weir nodded, "Bates mentioned that in his report."

"But the minute I step in the room, he turns his back and walks away."

"Again," pressed Elizabeth, "this bothers you?"

Rodney rolled his eyes in exasperation. "YES! He threatened my life, and now he's treating me differently from everyone else! Of course I'm bothered! Bothered is an appropriate response in this situation—"

"He wants you to stalk him."

Four pairs of puzzled eyes fastened on Major Sheppard. McKay sputtered disbelievingly, "What?"

Sheppard smiled innocently at him. "I said, he wants you to stalk him."

"Yes, yes, I heard that" the scientist waved it off, "What I want to know is why on Earth you'd suggest it in the first place?"

"Well," Sheppard tapped his knee and looked at the laptop, "whenever he turns his back on me, I stalk him and he starts talking."

Interested, Elizabeth cocked her head, "Really?"

"Yeah," Sheppard shrugged, "I think it's a way of initiating conversation or something."

"He turns his back on you, too?" McKay was still looking at Sheppard disbelievingly. "And you stalk him?"

"All the time," the Major raised an eyebrow, "Why, jealous, McKay?"

Rodney scoffed. "No, that idea is utterly ridiculous. If anything, I'm relieved. I'm not being singled out anymore."

"No, you've only joined the, 'first to be fed upon,' club."

"Very funny," Dr. McKay fidgeted with his data pad, then glanced at Sheppard distractedly. "So you think stalking a starving wraith will make it talk to me?"

Sheppard shrugged noncommittally. "It's worth a shot, anyway."

"What could Steve possibly want to say to me?"

"How on Earth should I know!"

Elizabeth raised her voice. "Gentlemen, please. As fascinating as this conversation is, we are getting nowhere." Standing, she walked around to the front of her desk. "This meeting was called to discuss unexpected behavior changes in our guest. Let's try to stay on topic." Her gaze slid meaningfully across Rodney McKay and John Sheppard, touched briefly upon a distinctly uncomfortable looking Lieutenant Aiden Ford, and finally came to rest on Teyla Emmagen. "Teyla, why don't you start?"

The Athosian woman nodded. "Very well. Unlike Dr. McKay and Major Sheppard, I haven't had much contact with our prisoner beyond participating in his original capture. I have, however, reviewed the tapes Dr. Weir gave me."

"Tapes?" Startled, McKay looked at Elizabeth. "I didn't get any tapes."

Elizabeth stared at him, "You didn't need any."

"They contained footage of the prisoner in his cell," Teyla said.

"Oh," McKay subsided, "That's all right then."

The group's attention refocused on the Athosian. "And your opinion after viewing those tapes?" Elizabeth Weir prompted.

Teyla shifted uneasily. "Analyzing prisoners is not my area of expertise."

Elizabeth nodded. "We understand that, but you have more experience with wraith than anyone else in this city. Any insight will be gratefully appreciated."

The toffee-skinned woman sighed. "In that case, I would like to start off by bringing our attention back to Dr. McKay's original point."

"I have a point? Could've fooled me. I could've sworn Sheppard eviscerated it."

"Which, I believe," Teyla continued, "was that he finds the wraith's change in demeanor suspicious." She looked at Rodney questioningly. "Am I right?"

The scientist sniffed. "Alarming is more accurate."

Dr. Weir leaned back, propping herself on her desk. "And you, Teyla? Do you find our prisoner's current demeanor 'alarming,' also?"

The Athosian considered her answer thoughtfully. "The change is worrisome, I admit. However, I must confess that I am mostly puzzled." Frowning Teyla gestured to the laptop, where the figures of Steve and Dr. Beckett were still silently moving across the screen. "What we just saw is not the sort of behavior I'd expect from a being facing certain death. Something about our prisoner has changed."

"I agree," nodded Elizabeth.

"Ditto," Lieutenant Ford seconded.

"Same here," Sheppard gave a brief wave.

Rodney McKay looked at them all in angry bewilderment. "Why the Hell was I being given such a hard time five minutes ago, then!?"

"Because the perspective you were demonstrating was lacking, Rodney."

Grinning, Sheppard jerked his thumb at Dr. Weir. "What she said."

"Well, hardy har har. Forgive me for being self-centric."

"If I may continue?" asked Teyla.

"Like you actually expect anything else from me," Rodney muttered. He quieted when the Athosian raised her eyebrows at him.

"At Dr. Weir's request, I reviewed tapes of the prisoner from several different times. While doing so, I observed a marked difference in his body language between the last two weeks and the weeks initially following his capture."

"And that difference is?" Elizabeth prompted.

Teyla shrugged, a gesture that somehow managed to look both serene and perplexed. "I would say stress. In the earlier tapes, there is a tension in his posture. His manner is clipped and confrontational, and his movements betray a mounting desperation. I believe I also saw signs of growing anxiety."

"Mounting desperation? Anxiety?" Voice cracking, Dr. McKay turned to Teyla in skeptical confusion. "You got all that from watching him pace and meditate?"

"Among other things," Teyla inclined her head, "Yes."

Looking about, McKay huffed, a sharp sound of disbelief, "How?"

The Athosian raised her eyebrows again. "Have you watched the captive meditate?"

"Course not," snorted the scientist. "That's Ford's job. I have better things to do."

Teyla looked to Ford. The Lieutenant shook his head. "Don't draw me in. Steve hasn't meditated on my shifts lately. I don't remember much."

Closing her eyes, Teyla smiled. "You illustrate my point exactly. He has not meditated in the recent tapes nearly as often as the early ones." She turned back to Rodney. "This tells me that the wraith no longer feels a frequent need to calm his mind. It suggests that his anxiety has decreased."

"Huh," Rodney pursed his lips, "I suppose that makes sense…"

"I suppose it does," Sheppard smiled approvingly, "Thank you, Teyla, that was very logical."

"You are welcome, Major." Teyla looked at Elizabeth again. "On the recent tapes, aside from the decrease in meditation, I also noticed a marked relaxation in the wraith's posture. His manner grows less hostile by the day, and the curiosity he's displaying towards his surroundings would, in a human, be taken both to denote a degree of comfort, and as a sign of wellbeing."

Sheppard smiled even wider. "Now you're just going psychologist on us."

Dr. Weir rubbed her chin. "You say he 'grows' less hostile. You believe his change in demeanor is ongoing?"

Teyla nodded, "Yes." She indicated the laptop with a gesture, "He explores Atlantis's infirmary and Dr. Beckett's personality as we speak."

"While last week," Elizabeth added thoughtfully, "he barely acknowledged Carson's presence. Even during the taking of samples…"

A few feet away, Lieutenant Ford shuddered, "Yeah, that was freaky."

Straightening, Dr. Weir clasped her hands behind her back. "One last question. If the change in the wraith's behavior is traceable, when did it begin?"

"That's easy," The conclusion of Teyla's study was pronounced with confidence. "It began the day after Major Sheppard and Dr. McKay put the glove on him."

"You're sure of this?"

"The transition is quite clear."

Elizabeth picked up a folder lying on her desk, by the laptop. "Thank you Teyla. It so happens that Dr. Heightmeyer, who also reviewed those tapes, agrees with you." Her dark eyes traveled one by one across the attentive quartet seated in her office. "Does anyone have anything else to add to Miss Emmagen's assessment?"

"I think Teyla's just about covered it," Sheppard said.

"And I'm just overflowing with socially informative commentary," McKay quipped. "Don't even bother looking at me."

"What about you, Lieutenant? You've guarded the prisoner frequently."

Resting his elbows on his knees, Lieutenant Ford, glanced from Dr. Weir to Teyla, and then back again. "I think she hit the nail on the Ma'am. Giving Steve the glove was definitely when the creepy staring began."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Creepy staring?"

"He means the 'watching,'" supplied Sheppard.

"Ah, from Bates's report," Dr. Weir switched the folder she'd picked up for another. "I must confess, I'm curious about this."

"No offense, Ma'am," Ford protested, "but that's not 'watching.' I don't care what Bates said in that. It's creepy staring."

"I take it you're one of the prisoner's targets?"

"Not one of the targets. THE target. Gives me the freakin' willies."

Sheppard peered at Ford with exaggerated surprise. "You're just easily disturbed, aren't you, Lieutenant?"

"It's in my job description, Sir." Snapping to attention, Ford stared at the far wall. "Of course, with all due respect, you'd probably freak a bit too, Sir, if a crazy, green-skinned alien spent the whole time it was being probed by needles staring at you."

Major Sheppard conceded with a shrug, "True. At ease, soldier."

In the chair beside Ford, Rodney muttered under his breath, "Of course, the easily disturbed part's probably why he's targeting you…"

"What was that?..."

"Nothing, Lieutenant."

"So, this 'creepy staring,'" Dr. Weir was focused on Ford, "It started after the glove? What exactly does it entail?"

"It's just what it sounds like, Ma'am. Creepy staring." Spreading two fingers in a 'V,' Ford demonstrated. "He stares, straight at you. No blinking, no words. Nothing. Just stares. Watching every move you make. Then, every once in while, right when you're finally getting used to it?" Ford paused, straight-faced, then lowered his hand. "He grins."

Elizabeth shivered. "That does sound creepy."

The Lieutenant nodded enthusiastically. "It is! When I got off duty the first time it happened, I swore the next time I looked in a mirror I'd see holes in my head."

"He grins?" Rodney repeated with disgust. "What kind of a punch line is that?"

Sheppard poked Dr. McKay in the knee. "It's not a punch line. I've seen Steve do it. And if you weren't so busy ignoring his requests to stalk him, you'd probably have been creeped out by it now, too. Ford's right. The grin is pretty unsettling."

Lieutenant Ford chuckled. "Yeah, man. Wraith teeth are weird."

"Indeed," agreed Teyla.

Dr. Weir tapped the folder containing Bates's report on her chest. "So, creepy wraith teeth aside. Are we all agreed the glove is the source of the odd behavior?"

A unanimous chorus of, "Yes," filled the office of Atlantis's expedition leader.

"All right, that brings us to our next order of business." Moving to the glass wall overlooking the Gateroom, Elizabeth contemplated the Stargate a moment before she turned back. "What exactly is that glove, and why has it affected the wraith like this?"

Silence invaded the room. Then…

"I do have a few theories—"

Ford raised his hand. "I have a theory too, Ma'am"

"And I have several hundred," Dr. Mckay snapped, "But unfortunately the lab we discovered the device in is so heavily damaged, I have no way of figuring out which one's right."

"Oh, so NOW it's an ancient device!"

Holding up a hand for silence, Dr. Weir looked at McKay. "I take it you were unable to salvage anything?"

"Did anybody hear what I just said? No. The data's completely irretrievable."

Teyla glanced quizzically from the irate scientist to Dr. Weir. "What data?"

Dr. Mckay sighed in annoyance. "The lab we discovered the glove, device, thing in, is located in one of the areas of Atlantis that was flooded by shield failure. It's a mess of water damage. The glove's lockbox was the only thing that survived."

"But surely, after it dried out—"

"No, no, no," Rodney shook his head, "Not that type of water damage. If it were that easy, we could blow-dry the equipment and reboot everything. No, I'm talking massive water damage. A hundred years at the least. The wiring is nothing but gooey clumps of corroded metal, and the physical degradation of the memory systems permanently corrupted the data within. Barely a byte survived."

"We did find a cool, rotting skeleton, though," Sheppard added.

Teyla raised an eyebrow, "A rotting skeleton…?"

"Yeah, in a stasis pod. It was mostly liquefied, but Carson was able to identify it as wraith."

"That sounds quite disgusting," Teyla frowned. "Why would the ancients have been keeping a wraith…?"

Sheppard shrugged. "No idea, no data. But that's not the best part. Get this. That rotting, liquefied wraith? It was wearing a rotting, partially liquefied glove."

"Which is where I got the idea," Rodney interrupted, "that the glove was a restraint. The ancients were obviously experimenting on him."

"Hence our decision to put the intact glove on Steve."

"Which brings us full circle," Rodney continued, as if Sheppard hadn't spoken, "back to my theory about what the glove's actually doing." The scientist fell silent.

"And that theory is?" Elizabeth finally prompted.

Dr. McKay fidgeted. "Mind controlling drugs."

Everyone stared.

"I know, I know. It sounds crazy. But it's the best I've got now. Our equipment made no progress, whatsoever, analyzing it, and its energy signature is totally benign. Not to mention unique. I've no idea what mechanics it's operating on, and as much as it hurts to admit, when all real science fails, voodoo science is what's left."

Dr. Weir frowned at the babbling physicist, "You forget, Rodney, Dr. Beckett examined the glove too. He didn't find any trace of drugs on it."

"No, but he couldn't get inside it. Nobody could. The drugs could be concealed in the material of the wristband, or the palm pads, or… or those glowy bead things."

"Okay," Elizabeth conceded, "let's say the drugs do exist. What are they for?"

"Rendering him docile, of course," Rodney grinned excitedly, "The drugs reduce his negative impulses and dull his hunger, making him easier to handle."

"And the gradual behavior change Teyla noted?"

"I thought of that too. The drugs don't work instantly. They hang out in his system, slowly building up and exponentially increasing the effect. Like long-term anti-depressants. You know how Bates's report says the beads glow brighter sometimes?"

Elizabeth nodded, "I did."

Rodney's grin turned triumphant, "That's when the glove's dosing him."

Nodding, Dr. Weir frowned thoughtfully, "It's a good idea Rodney, however you've overlooked one important thing."

"What? What did I overlook?"

"If the drugs are building up in the wraith's body, why has Dr. Beckett found no traces of foreign substances in our guest's cell samples?"

Dr. McKay instantly deflated, "Damn! I should've read the voodoo report too."

"Okay," Elizabeth turned to the others, "Who's next?"

Lieutenant Ford raised his hand again, "I have an idea, Ma'am. It's a sort of mind control one, like Dr. McKay's—"

"Copy cat," the scientist muttered.

Ford shot Rodney a nervous glance, "—only it doesn't involve drugs."

"What does it involve, Lieutenant?"

"Parasites, Ma'am."

Dr. Weir cocked her head intrigued, and Major Sheppard looked impressed.

"Parasites, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Parasites, like the Goauld," encouraged, Lieutenant Ford continued, demonstrating with his hands the same way he'd mimed the staring. "Only they're not regular parasites. They're energy. The ancients trapped them in the glove for studying. It's a containment device, see? Like the thing the black shadow came out of, only smaller. And the parasites can only infect the wraith wearing it. So when Steve put it on, the parasites entered his feeding slit and took control of his brain. The behavior change is because the parasites are bad at mimicking him."

"So you're saying, Steve isn't really Steve anymore." Elizabeth frowned.

"No Ma'am," Ford emphatically shook his head. "He's trapped in his mind. The parasites are moving his body, talking with his voice. It may look like Steve on the outside, but it's not. It's the parasites. They're looking out at us from his eyes. Watching. And waiting. Studying us," Ford's eyes widened as he lowered his voice spookily, "Watching us, the way the ancients used to watch them."

"You're really hung up on the creepy staring, aren't you Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Ma'am," said Aiden Ford, straightening, "And not ashamed to admit it."

"I can see that." Dr. Weir sighed. "Unfortunately the parasite theory has the same problem as Rodney's mind control drugs. Carson's scans of our guest's brain show no significant change in neural activity. Mind controlling energy parasites would've shown up by now." Frustrated, she looked to Sheppard and Teyla.

Sheppard grinned smugly, "I have one that can't be debunked by Carson."

"Go on."

"It also involves mind control—"

"Copy cat," muttered Lieutenant Ford and Rodney.

"But it doesn't involve drugs or parasites."

Elizabeth nodded, "What does it involve then?"

Sheppard smiled broadly. "A mental interface that responds to wraith DNA, like the ATA gene technology." He leaned forward, "When a wraith puts it on, it activates, restrains his feeding hand, and links with him telepathically. It starts sending his mind signals, subtly, of course, so he doesn't realize he's being manipulated. It tells him he's safe, so he'll act less aggressive, and makes him feel full while suggesting he ignore the fact that he hasn't actually eaten anyone lately." Sheppard looked at Elizabeth proudly, "Bit more believable than body snatchers and voodoo drugs."

Rodney snorted, "Yes, except that it can be debunked by MY report instead of Carson's. Mental interfaces give off a unique energy signature when in use. I'd have detected it by now if the glove was telepathically active."

"So the Major's theory is impossible too," Dr. Weir sighed.

"Dr. Weir, if I may?" Teyla Emmagen looked at her teammates, then continued when Elizabeth nodded. "What if we are over thinking this?"

Rodney scoffed, "That's impossible."

"We're having this meeting in a 10,000 year old alien city, Rodney," Elizabeth chided, "Nothing's impossible. Please continue, Teyla."

Teyla smiled at her gratefully, "What if the glove really is nothing but a restraint?"

Major Sheppard looked thoughtful, "Back to the simple glove theory…"

"Okay, so the glove's a restraint once more," Dr. Weir returned to her desk and looked pointedly at the laptop. "Why would a restraint affect Steve's behavior like this?"

"Yeah," Lieutenant Ford said, "I mean, he was already in a cage. Gloves are a completely different league from that."

"Yeah," Sheppard added, "JV B league."

"But he does not have the use of his feeding hand anymore," Teyla explained.

Rodney looked confused, "Why should that matter? He wasn't using it anyway."

"But it was an option."

"And now we've taken it," Elizabeth nodded, "I see where you're going."

"Well, I don't," Dr. McKay snapped.

The Athosian woman patiently explained herself. "It is not possible to completely disarm a wraith—"

"I wouldn't say THAT," Sheppard interrupted, "There's always physical dismemberment."

"It is not possible to HUMANELY disarm a wraith," Teyla qualified, raising an eyebrow. "Consider. Our prisoner may have lived for centuries, but for all his experience, he has never been without a weapon."

"And you think he's feeling vulnerable," Dr. Weir said.

Teyla nodded, "I think that is very likely."

Dr. McKay snorted disbelievingly, "Our wraith feels vulnerable. I don't believe that for a microsecond. He's ten times as strong and twice as fast as anyone else in Atlantis. His entire body is a deadly weapon. How could he possibly feel vulnerable?"

"Because he can't feed anymore, Rodney," Dr. Weir said.

"Like I said before," Rodney sniped, "He wasn't feeding anyway."

"But now he is physically unable to do so," Teyla explained. "Even if he were to escape, he would still starve. He cannot remove the glove. He's unable to destroy it, and even if he somehow managed to get back to his hive, there's no guarantee that his brethren would be able to get it off for him. He is in a very difficult position."

"He could still cause considerable damage here," Rodney said.

"But it wouldn't do him any good to do so."

Elizabeth stared thoughtfully at the silent image of the wraith being examined by Carson on the laptop's screen. "He knows the glove is ATA activated, and he's smart enough to guess removing it requires the gene too."

Major Sheppard frowned, "So he decides to play nice in order to convince us that he's not a threat in the hopes that we'll eventually remove it."

Teyla nodded, "That is my belief."

"A desperate ploy, seeing as he faces impending starvation," Elizabeth mused.

"Wraith are very patient," Teyla said.

"And Carson has no idea how long they go between feedings," Sheppard added, "For all we know, he could have plenty of time to play out an elaborate ruse."

Lieutenant Ford looked at the laptop uneasily, "That's a disturbing thought, Sir."

"I agree, Lieutenant." Dr. Weir leaned back against her desk, blocking everyone's view of the laptop. "Does anyone have any evidence that might support or dispute Teyla's theory?" Sheppard and Lieutenant Ford both shook their heads.

There was a moment of silence, then… "Unfortunately, no," Dr. McKay grudgingly admitted, "I'd play nice to get my muzzle taken off too."

Elizabeth set Bates's report back on her desk as Teyla nodded politely in acknowledgment of the implied compliment. "In that case, I think this discussion is over. Unless anyone has anything else they'd like to add…?"

Silence accompanied by a quartet of shaking heads.

"Okay then," Dr. Weir said, "In that case, I'll conclude this meeting. Our guest is cooperating, and the ancient device doesn't seem to be causing him harm, so I see no reason to remove it." She nodded decisively, "The glove stays, for now. We'll continue monitoring Steve's behavior. If he's playing a waiting game, I want to see how far he's willing to go." Circling her desk, Atlantis's leader took a seat and turned the laptop about to face her. Elizabeth surveyed the room, "Thank you, everyone, for your observations. You've given me much to think on. You are dismissed."

Chairs scraped softly across the floor as Sheppard and his team rose to leave.

"Major, do you have a moment?" Elizabeth asked.

"Sure," Major Sheppard stopped at the door, hanging back as the others filed out.

Dr. Weir waited until Dr. McKay, Ford, and Teyla were out of earshot. "Close the door and take a seat, John."

Quirking an eyebrow in puzzlement, Sheppard complied. He pulled the chair he'd used earlier close to the desk, so he was sitting across from her.

"What do you think?"

"What do I think about the discussion, or what do I think about Steve's creepy personality change?"

Elizabeth smiled, "Either."

Sheppard shrugged, "I suppose they're connected, aren't they?" Leaning back, he crossed a leg over one knee. "From what I've seen, Teyla's on the right track. Steve isn't being coerced by weird tech. He's cooperating because he wants to."

"But you don't agree with her reasoning," Dr. Weir said, noting the hint of skepticism on his face.

"No," Sheppard frowned, "By now he's figured out that he can't escape. McKay is right. Taking away his feeding hand shouldn't matter."

"Then why IS he cooperating?"

"I don't know," Sheppard shook his head, frustrated, "And I'd like to add, cooperating is a strong word for the situation. It's not like Steve is bending over backwards to please us. It's more like he's giving quarter, grudgingly. He's just as disdainful and disagreeable as he was three weeks ago."

"But he IS giving quarter."

"Yes, in a stalking, wraithy sort of way, he is."

Clasping her hands, Dr. Weir leaned her elbows on her desk and rested her chin on her thumbs. "But is it enough?"

Sheppard stared at her, puzzled, "Enough for what?"

Elizabeth glanced pointedly at the stack of reports between them. "Dr. Beckett informs me that his work with the Hoffans is progressing quickly. They're very close to replicating the reconstructed protein in bulk, and the delivery system is developing similarly. You told the Hoffans about Steve—"

"Every so often I consider maybe regretting that."

"—What do you think they'll ask to do when the prototype is finished?"

Major Sheppard tapped his knee, "They'll want to test it on him."

Dr. Weir nodded, "Given the obsessively reckless mindset they display, I think that's very likely."

"Likely is an inappropriate term," Sheppard quipped, "I'd go with certainty."

"Tell me, John," Elizabeth's dark eyes stared earnestly at him, "When they do ask for access to him, will you support granting it?"

Meeting her gaze, Major Sheppard took a deep breath. Then he looked away, letting it out in a frustrated sigh, "If you'd asked me that two weeks ago, I'd have answered with an unhesitating, 'Yes.'" Suddenly agitated, he pushed his chair back and got up. "Heck, even two days ago, I'd have said that."

"And now…?" Dr. Weir watched as Sheppard began pacing around the small room, waiting patiently for her second in command to put his thoughts in order.

Finally Sheppard stopped. He surveyed the Gateroom through the glass wall for a moment. Then he turned to face her. His confident voice was perplexed. "Did I tell you Steve actually volunteered information yesterday?"

Elizabeth nodded, "Your report did mention that."

"I mean, it wasn't much," Sheppard continued, "Nothing groundbreaking or anything. Common sense could've predicted most of it."

"You're referring to all the hives waking up and culling their territories in preparation for coming after us," Elizabeth said.

Sheppard nodded, "Yeah, but my point is I didn't even ask."

"Go on."

"I walked in the room, started circling the cage, like I've done every day since we captured him, and before I even ask what his name is, he starts talking." Sheppard scratched his head, "He had no incentive. He asked for nothing in return."

"But he talked anyway."

"Yeah. Answering a question I'd asked weeks ago." Mussing his hair, Sheppard skipped back to his chair and plopped into it. He leaned across the desk and stared intently at Elizabeth. "Something has changed. Interrogating prisoners is a psychological power struggle. The power of life or death over him, vs. the power to take vital information to the grave. 'Til recently Steve's been acting like he expects to die, no matter what. No reason to learn about us. No reason to expect better treatment. He kept silent, being deliberating vague and unhelpful. But now? Now he's watching us like hawks, volunteering information, and asking Carson for baths and sunlight. He's acting like there's a structure he can work within to better himself. The way I see it, in Steve's mind, a new element has been introduced to the power struggle."

Dr. Weir frowned, "But you don't know what it is?"

Major Sheppard shook his head, "I haven't a clue. But it's working in our favor."

Elizabeth cocked her head, "How do you figure?"

"It's just a feeling I get…" Sheppard pursed his lips, as if wrestling with a mind-boggling dilemma. He crossed his arms, "Okay, try this. It's like I'm playing Go Fish."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.

"I know, I know. Bear with me. It's like I'm playing Go Fish, and I'm holding a wild card, only I don't remember putting it in the deck. I don't know what it's for, or how many there are, but I can tell from the way my opponent is playing that he knows I'm holding it. So I'm thinking, why hasn't he asked for it?"

"I assume the wild card represents the glove?" Elizabeth interrupted.

"Yeah," Sheppard tapped Bates's report, "So, going back to my analogy, I'm sitting there, looking at my cards, wondering. Can I use it with my three of a kind? Or are there enough wild cards for a book? He's obviously waiting to see what I'll do. Should I ask for it? But if I ask and there aren't, he could get something from me. By now he knows everything I'm holding, and since the game is halfway over, he's likely to draw something I want soon. Is the wild card important enough to risk losing my three of a kind for? And what if asking for it defeats its purpose, rendering it useless? There aren't wild cards in Go Fish, so I'm obviously playing with new rules."

Dr. Weir was nodding, "But you don't know what the new rules are."

"No, and the only way I can find out is by taking cues from my opponent."

"A being motivated by alien psychology that we can't even pretend to understand at this point," Elizabeth smiled ruefully. "That's a difficult game you're playing, John."

"I know. And it gets even more confusing. While I'm playing it safe, deciding what to do with the wild card, my opponent stops making books. He starts holding stuff. Stuff I want. Stuff he knows I'll ask for. Deliberately letting me advance."

"So you're saying Atlantis is winning?"

Sheppard shook his head, "Not quite. More like heading towards a sort of compromise. Steve collected a lot of points earlier. The more I learn about the new rules, the less confident I am that the game will result in a clear winner or loser."

Elizabeth frowned, "So we're heading for a tie."

Sheppard nodded tentatively, "You could say that, yeah."

"I see," Dr. Weir absently fingered a corner of the nearest folder. "And do the benefits of a tie with Steve outweigh the benefits of winning our hand against the Hoffans?"

"Yes. Definitely," Sheppard's reply was unhesitatingly quick, but he qualified it with an emphatic, "But only if he continues holding cards for me."

"And there's no way of knowing if he'll volunteer information again," Elizabeth said, "Or whether what he volunteers will be useful…"

"Exactly," Sheppard scratched his chin, "It's a gamble. Do we bet on the power of the wild card and see what happens? Or do we play it safe and go for the sure win?"

"There in lies the dilemma," Elizabeth murmured. "The cooperation of a wraith could provide us with a wealth of knowledge and tactical advantage."

"But the Hoffans' drug could too."

Hooking her wavy hair behind an ear, Dr. Weir glanced at her laptop, "Which brings us to my original question. How powerful is the wild card? What exactly was Dr. McKay's glove designed for?" Pursing her lips, Atlantis's leader turned the laptop sideways, so they both could see the screen. "More importantly, how do we find out?"

Glancing at her quizzically, Sheppard watched the screen silently for a moment. Then… "Beats me. We could always ask Steve, but that could undermine our bargaining position. He'd know more about our hand."

"And that brings me to something that bothers me, John," Elizabeth stood and walked to the transparent wall, surveying the Gateroom again. "Why IS there a bargaining position? This psychological power struggle… You said Steve's acting to better himself. That there's a structure he's working within." Dr. Weir turned, skewering John Sheppard with the intensity of her hazel stare. "What structure," she slowly asked, "can a starving wraith use to his benefit if he knows he's as good as dead?"

"How should I know? I'm not a starving wraith!"

"You're not listening, John," Dr. Weir pressed. "Why better the conditions of your captivity if you won't be around to enjoy them?"

"You think he sees a way to avoid death?" Major Sheppard twisted in his chair to face her, looking utterly perplexed, "How's that work? We've got nothing to feed him."

Dr. Weir raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that?"

"Of course I'm sure!" Sheppard snapped, "We're not into sacrifi—" The Major's mouth dropped open as his eyes widened in shock. His lips worked silently a few seconds. Abruptly he spun to face the desk, simultaneously yanking the laptop towards him. The pile of folders sent their contents slipping to the floor. "Shit!" Sheppard studied the tiny forms of Steve and Carson with renewed interest, "Why the Hell didn't I think of that earlier?" he whispered, "Now everything makes sense…"

-------------------------------------------------

Several levels below the Gateroom and Weir's office, Dr. Beckett walked the length of Atlantis's infirmary with the goal of obtaining a clean syringe. "Ah fully admit it," he grumbled, "Ah just don' understand. Yer physiology is truly amazing."

The wraith, Steve, watched the doctor's progress from his sunlit bed.

"Not a hint o' deterioration. Consistent regeneration. Cells fully energized…"

Green, alien eyes peered out from between narrowed eyelids.

"Ye appear to be in perfect health. I'd 'ave thought ye'd show signs o' discomfort by now. Yet if anything, yer fitter than when ye arrived. Yer metabolic efficiency is nothing short o' astounding."

Steve's lips twisted in annoyance as the Scotsman stopped at a supply rack, "For what it's worth, I don't understand you, either, human."

Ignoring the disgust evident in the multi-tonal tone, Carson scanned the shelves for the box he needed, calling over his shoulder, "Wha's not tae understand? We're simple compared to ye."

"You Lanteans," Steve spat. The wraith's body barely moved as he threw his gaze across the eclectic mix of equipment cluttering the infirmary, "You operate machines of the ancients. You even seem to understand them. And your weaponry," he glanced meaningfully at the marines flanking his bed, "while primitive in comparison, is, for your species, remarkably advanced." Steve's eyes darted to a counter littered with an assortment of analyzers. Technicians clustered about it, performing tests on the fresh samples Dr. Beckett had just collected. "As is your computer technology."

Having found the right size, Carson pulled down the flimsy white box and selected a sterile needle from it. "Is it aer intelligence tha' puzzles ye? Tha' we're capable o' making some o' this stuff?" He returned the rattling needles to their shelf.

"No," Steve's narrowed eyes widened as Dr. Beckett walked back to the bed. "The intelligence of your species is not in question." His oval pupils turned to slits in the bright light as he stared at the white-coated human intently. "What puzzles me is the methodology supporting your technological development."

"Aer methodology?" Carson repeated, "We've been criticized fer many things, but this is the first time I've heard tha'. Wha' about it puzzles ye, exactly?"

"Everything!" the wraith spat. He cocked his head, "It is completely backwards. Your scientific method is flawed. Fatally. It should not work."

Dr. Beckett unwrapped the syringe, staring at Steve, "Cheeky today, aren't ye?" he said, sounding offended, "My scientific method's just fine, thank ye."

"It is not," Steve glared at the syringe in annoyance, "It's wrong. These tests are an effort in futility."

"Ah think ye just don' wan' tae be stuck again. Now roll up yer sleeve."

The wraith hissed in frustration, "Your pin pricks are nothing to me. I don't even feel them." Tugging at the arm of his coat, Steve bared his left wrist.

Carson grasped the grudgingly proffered limb and gently palpated the veins, coaxing the dark green shadows to the surface. "Somehow ah doubt tha'. The inside o' the wrist's a delicate area. Sensitive in humans. Structurally speaking, we're nae tha' different, ye an' ah. So ah'm willing tae bet this stings, at least a wee bit." Satisfied with the swelling vessels he'd found, Dr. Becket sighed, "This would be sae much easier if ye'd take yer coat off so ah could get yer elbow. Are ye ready?"

Narrowing his eyes, Steve turned his face away. The wraith looked out the window, watching the ocean while Carson deftly inserted the thin needle.

Depressing the plunger to make sure he'd hit the vein, Dr. Becket nodded when dark, almost black blood slowly welled up into the syringe. "Right first time today."

Steve didn't acknowledge the comment.

Eyeing the slowly filling syringe, Carson tried again. "Sae ye think my scientific method's flawed. Wha' makes ye say tha'?"

The long white hair swayed as if in a breeze as the wraith minutely shook his head. "You mix control groups and tests groups without care. You treat both the same, yet still expect different results."

Dr. Beckett protested, "Ah most certainly do n—"

"You DO!" Steve laughed, a short bark of disdainful amusement, "And then you act surprised when you do you not get the results expected." Cocking his head, the wraith looked at Carson suddenly, studying him with apparent curiosity. "I do not understand how your culture achieved its technological success when the basic building blocks of your science are intrinsically flawed. You are unnaturally lucky."

Carson frowned, "I assure ye, we most certainly are not."

"It is the only explanation."

Noting the syringe was half full, Dr. Beckett bit back a frustrated retort, "Fine, aer methodology's flawed. Just wha' evidence do ye 'ave supporting this?"

The wraith smiled, a downplayed display that bespoke the epitome of toothy smugness. The multi-tonal voice purred softly, "I will illustrate with the most glaring example. Day after day you comment disbelievingly that my health does not decline."

Sighing, Carson let a trace of annoyance enter his reply in response to the deliberate vagueness, "An' wha's tha' got tae do wi' it?"

Steve's smug smile widened, intensifying into a self-satisfied grin. He leaned forward, moving his pale face uncomfortably close to Carson's. The marines on either side audibly tensed. Narrowing his eyes, the wraith tilted his head and ignored the implied threat. He whispered superiorly, "If your intent is to study the effects of starvation on my species, why provide me with sustenance?"

Carson's voice rose in confused protest, "But we hav'nae provided ye any."

The wraith's green eyes darted pointedly to his gloved feeding hand, then back to the perplexed human in front of him.

Dr. Beckett followed the pointed gaze to the innocently motionless glove, then refocused on Steve with bewilderment, "Yer nae serious?"

Steve met the perplexed eyes with a confident smirk.

Consternation blossomed, "Ye don' mean…? Are ye trying tae tell me…?" Letting his stare drop to the glove in disbelief, Carson spluttered for a moment. Finally he blurted out a shocked, "But it's nae possible!"

The confident smirk on the wraith's face diminished slightly.

Taking a deep breath, Dr. Beckett let out a long, deliberate sigh. Then, calmly and steadily, he withdrew the glinting needle from Steve's wrist. With similarly careful movements, he capped the syringe and set it on the tray.

Discomfited by the suddenly tranquil actions, Steve watched closely as the doctor picked up his feeding hand and gently fingered the dimly glowing beads. "Ah think ye'll agree wi' me when ah say this," Carson began. The corner of his mouth quirked wonderingly as he met the wraith's slightly quizzical gaze, "But this 'ere?" he laughed softly, tapping the glove's wristband. Then he laughed a bit louder.

Steve flinched as Dr. Beckett abruptly grinned like mad.

"Holy crap!"


	4. Chapter 3: Hiiissssssss!

I just altered this chapter a bit. (4-17-09) Again, thank you for reading! Do other people mind my writing out Carson's accent? I really enjoy writing it, but if it's interfering a lot, I can tone it down a bit.

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.

**Chapter Three: Hiiissssssss!**

(translation: Crap!)

_**Present**_

Knock, slap. Fan, whip.

Still pacing, the frustrated wraith stalked through his quarters. Black leather brushed the edge of his sleeping pallet as he turned to stride along the wall.

Knock, slap. Fan, whip.

The blackish-blue chitin of a corner loomed, and he turned again.

Knock, slap. Fan, whip.

The wraith's shoulder brushed the deceptively strong, orange membranes of the organic door. Clawed fingers scraped across smooth shell as he hissed softly, resisting the urge to open it and stalk the corridor beyond. He'd already expanded his path once. Now he traced a circuit around the room, outlining its furnishings with his movements to make the space feel larger. The illusion was effective. Or had been. Briefly. Now, beyond repeatedly upsetting his center of gravity…

Knock, slap. Fan, whip.

Ivory hair splayed against the dormant display of a personal data station as the wraith veered off-balance to avoid the intrusive object. Once past it, he swayed back towards the wall, regaining his poise just in time to navigate the next corner.

Knock, slap. Fan, whip.

His coat brushed the sleeping pallet…

"HIIISSSSSSSSSS!"

Giving an agitated snarl, the wraith spun and stalked across the floor, jerking to a halt barely a handbreadth from the door. Pale palms caressed skeletal chitin as green eyes slipped closed. The wraith calmed his mind, focusing on the contrasting feelings of light hair and heavy coat panels swinging from the arrested motion. When all traces of frenetic emotion were masked, he cast a telepathic net beyond the organic barrier. A thin, imperceptible ripple of thought probed the corridors…

No one was nearby…

Leaning his forehead against the door, the wraith sighed in gratitude as he withdrew the probe. Then, putting on a neutral expression, he opened his eyes and straightened, focusing his mind on the wall's internal control panel.

With a twitch of skeletal tendons, the door retracted into its frame.

Relief surged, threatening to overwhelm. Taking a deep breath of the corridor's air, the wraith turned away and pressed his back to the wall, quickly shutting the door again. He was not trapped. He could leave anytime, for any reason. He was not locked in this room. The feeling was merely a distressing illusion.

But it was getting worse…

The wraith pinched the bridge of his nose, battling down the caged panic trying to well up within him again. He was NOT trapped! This was NOT real!

His hands were shaking… The wraith's green eyes opened with a start. His mind roiled with turmoil. Everything was shifting. Changing. Everything—!

He couldn't continue like this…

A hiss of self-disgust rent the suddenly constricting atmosphere, and the wraith's gaze fastened on the data station. He had to DO something. Focus on something! Sending his thoughts into the wall, he touched the control panel again, this time locking it against operation by another. That done, he cast his thoughts deeper into the living cables, searching for a second interface. One that wasn't supposed to be there.

The wraith had grown this one himself.

Finding it, he gently brushed his mind across the telepathic sensors, carefully disarming and bypassing its self-destruct triggers. After his mental signature was confirmed, he sent a single instruction.

A soft, wet ripping sound filled the room.

Withdrawing his thoughts, the wraith strode past the station, into the corner where a section of wall was tearing open. Clear, viscous ichor oozed from the raw lips of damaged membranes, like sap oozing from prematurely opened seedpods. Accustomed to the sight, the wraith gave the torn tissues little thought. Such wounds were necessary side effects of mechanisms designed for external invisibility. Waiting impatiently until the opening had finished lengthening vertically, he thrust his feeding hand into the cavity and firmly grasped the gel-pad revealed within.

The grey, translucent substance squished, adhering to his skin and molding itself to his palm. The wraith shivered as the cool gel entered the sensitive sheaths housing his fingertips' enzyme hooks, creating an internal pressure that stimulated the opening of his feeding slit. The slippery substance invaded the exposed orifice. The sensation elicited a reflexive hiss, and the wraith clamped down, extending his injection hooks and pressing the gaping slit firmly into the gel. The layer outside the feeding apparatus firmed, immobilizing his hand, and the wraith felt the gel inside ripple as it initiated a detailed scan. Another precaution designed to verify his identity.

Blue lights snapped on. They briefly illuminated the compartment, then tightened their focus into four lines and began a slow sweep of his hand. Pupils contracting, the wraith narrowed his eyes as the intense energy beams crept up his wrist and along his forearm. A series of irregularities in his upper epidermal layers, slight blemishes, barely perceptible to the trained eye, were pinpointed and mapped. His skin tingled as the resulting pattern was analyzed and compared.

So many precautions. But necessary…

The light switched from the harsh blue of potential self-destruct to the comforting orange of recognition, and a second compartment, embedded in the bone-like structural support of the wall, slid open by the wraith's shoulder. He turned to face it, widening his eyes for a microsecond-duration retinal scan. As he passed the final test, the tingling in his forearm and the tickling in his feeding slit abated. The gel pad released.

All pretenses of calm and patience vanished. Snatching his hand back, the wraith thrust it into the second compartment, spraying enzyme from partially extended injection hooks. A hiss of annoyance, and the second hand followed. After a moment of impatient scrabbling, the dripping fingers withdrew. Clutched within them was a portable data storage device, roughly half the size of a personnel stunner. A pair of smaller data devices followed, each sized for easy hiding.

Crouching, the wraith made use of the feature, slipping one through an altered seam and shaking so it fell into the inner lining of his coat. No need to expose both.

Kneeling, he jammed the other small drive into a concealed port in the base of the dormant data station. Sensing the hardware, the console quickly hummed to life.

Just as quickly, it froze.

Translucent teeth bared in satisfaction as the wraith straightened, placing his hands on the console's twin gel controls to activate the mental interface. Glyphs and symbols scrolled across the screen faster than the eye could follow as the program contained on the drive navigated the hijacked operating system. The wraith's mind followed the digital modifications with intense focus, letting the familiar observations distract him from the unwarranted feelings still constricting his chest.

When the program finished, the console sent him a telepathic beep, signaling that it'd finished the regular boot-up process. The wraith probed it, searching for the mainframe's access points.

Nothing.

A pleased hiss whispered softly in the quiet room, followed by the click of the larger drive locking into an external port. The station queried its user, asking if he wanted to access the data within. The wraith considered the question with his usual mixture of anxiety and amusement. Under normal circumstances he would never dare even plug this drive in, much less access it, even in his personnel quarters.

The circumstances, however, were far from normal.

The wraith told it 'yes.' At the thought, strings of code began scrolling across the screen. Code that would make the station do things it shouldn't. Code that could fool the mainframe. Code that would make any number of impossibilities possible.

Code that any wraith in his right mind would kill for…

…Assuming they could figure out how to use it.

And this wraith did. Know how to use it, that is. Not that he intended to, of course. Not now. Hopefully not ever. Having it, however, was necessary. Or rather, having the options it provided. They were options no wraith should have. Or want. Well, no single male of his status, at least. For a queen or senior officer, such options were expected. Or should be. Any wraith of high status without them was a fool.

As was any wraith of his status WITH them…

The wraith paused. He might be a fool, but his queen was not. She was resourceful and smart. He wouldn't be in this infuriating situation if she were otherwise.

She would kill him if she saw this. It hinted treason, and his position was unusually precarious. There would be no lenience…

The wraith's ivory hair rippled with a shudder. Green eyes blinked in agitation. She would never see it. Ever. It was designed to erase all traces of its existence, and thanks to the program contained in the small drive, no one could spy on him when he worked on it. As far as the hive's central computer was concerned, this data station didn't even exist. If searched for specifically, it would show up as inactive.

Hissing angrily, the wraith thrust away the distressing thought of discovery. He was safe. He was NOT trapped. He was NOT found out. This code would NOT be discovered by anyone on this hive. EVER. He would destroy it first. More importantly, he would never, NEVER, use it without good reason. He was not a traitor.

For now, it was a toy, nothing more. A deadly, extremely interesting toy…

On that note of self-reassurance, the wraith single-mindedly threw himself into analyzing the code. Symbols flew across the screen. Focused on the mental signals accompanying them, the wraith barely noticed. Compiling, editing, recompiling. No way around the current efficiency threshold. Checking, simulating, rechecking… Low hisses and short-lived expressions of annoyance and dismissal. Seconds stretched into minutes. Minutes accumulated. One hour passed. Two. Everything was in perfect order, like he'd left it. Today's improvements were minor, but seemed to work flawlessly… What next? The wraith's concentration lapsed.

The constricting feeling rushed back. He was trapped. Locked in. This room was barely bigger than a—

NO! He'd locked the door himself! To prevent intruders.

Determined to avoid the irrational, alarming feelings, the wraith ran his simulations over and over, deliberately altering variables to account for increasingly unlikely and bizarre scenarios. Success, success, success, success, success. All successes. No, one failure… He reexamined the parameters. Snorted in disbelief. Fortunately planet-sized, black hole-spewing subspace amoebas didn't exist.

Perhaps he should keep to reality a bit more.

Without consciously deciding to do so, he began inputting parameters for the hive's current situation. One or two at first, then more. Success, success, success…

The date scrolling across the screen froze as the wraith realized what he was doing. He cocked his head. He was not seriously considering doing this. It was simulation. Nothing more. An idle expression of curiosity. Data started flowing again. Curiosity… Inputting more variables, the wraith mulled over other difficulties his current situation faced. Difficulties the program hadn't originally been designed for…

Exiting the simulation, he returned to the base code. Added to a few arrays. Altered a few key phrases slightly. Recompile, add, edit, recompile. He switched back and forth, from simulation to code, gradually diversifying the program's, (and the simulator's), capabilities. Test variables, predicted results, more tests. Tweak this. Calibrate that. Program freeze. Okay, completely incompatible. Reboot. Continue. Test variables now working correctly. Run simulations again.

Success, success, success, success.

Curiosity mounting, the wraith set about refining the code to accommodate current potential dilemmas as exactly as possible. He altered and added, turned unknown variables on and off. Success, failure, success, failure, success…

…failure…

Trapped. TRAPPED!

"HIIISSSSSSSSSS!"

He WAS NOT trapped!

The wraith's lips curled in impotent frustration. Abandoning logic, he started predicting the effects of unknowns. Recklessly entering it into the simulator as fact.

Success, success, failure, success, success, success…

His hands were shaking again.

In a frantic flurry of motion, the wraith exited the program and removed the data drive, flinging it viciously at his sleeping pallet. The black claw-shaped case bounced, hit a wall membrane, and bounced again, teetering precariously on the edge. Not caring, the wraith raked his claws threw his hair, hissing in distress. He paced furiously.

Knock, slap. Fan, whip.

Black coat panels fanned and swung. Ivory hair pattered, tried to swing, got caught on fingers, and failed.

Knock, slap. Fan, whip.

A telepathic command… The data station powered down, triggering the hijack program to rerun, undoing the isolating hacks it'd performed before.

Knock, slap. Fan, whip.

The program finished. Beeped, signaling a clean run.

Knock, slap. Fan, whip.

In a move that had no business being as smooth as it was given the wraith's agitated state, he crouched mid-spin and delicately snatched the small drive from the concealed base port, flinging it not-so-delicately at the sleeping pallet. The hard projectile clattered against its counterpart. It's balance upset, the heavy drive tilted and slid, sending them both skittering across the floor, directly into his path.

Snarling angrily, the wraith snatched them up. He stopped pacing long enough to shove them into the secret compartment and reactivate the fail-safes protecting it. As the tear in the wall shrank, hiding the high-tech scanner and healing as it resealed itself, an upset hiss rent the air. Why must the process take so long?!

The instant the seam was indiscernible, the wraith jabbed his mind at the wall controls and reactivated their responsiveness so visitor's could enter.

His agitated pacing resumed.

Knock, slap. Fan, whip.

Trapped.

Knock, slap. Fan, whip.

Translucent claws tangled in silky ivory. He was NOT trapped!

Unable to suppress the impulse, the wraith broke stride, almost jogging the three paces to the door and barely stopping himself from running into the corridor without scanning it first. Heart pounding, he pressed his forehead against the cool frame, recklessly probing without his customary degree of finesse.

A dismayed hiss. One of his lesser brothers was outside.

Feigning calm, the wraith deflected the request for instructions and bid the masked wraith continue on his way. Once the command was acknowledged, he turned his back to wall and tried to calm his mind, grateful that his lesser brother hadn't noticed his distress. He mustn't draw attention to himself. Not until he could control this.

A sudden sensation that the walls were closing in gripped him…

Trapped! The wraith dug his fingers into the wall. He couldn't go out. His brother wasn't gone yet. He was TRAPPED!

NO! He was NOT! Pain jolted his senses as he tensed. The wraith snatched his feeding hand up, cradling it to his chest. He'd grabbed the wall too hard, unconsciously extending his finger hooks and scraping their sensitive tips across the chitin.

Dammit. Such a stupid error. He hadn't done that in centuries. Glancing down, he saw the damage had already healed, just like the hole in the wall…

Memory echoed, distorted. …Trapped, success, trapped!

Green irises surrounding panic-dilated pupils flicked unbidden towards the corner where the data drives hid. …Failure, trapped, success…!

The wraith growled in denial and squeezed his eyes shut.

Trapped, success, trapped, success, success, SUCCESS!

The horrified growl morphed into a quasi-whine, and then trailed into a shocked hiss.

He was actually considering using it! Today!

Crap!


	5. Chapter 4: Accessorial Dilemma Part 1

Sorry for the wait. Accessorial Dilemma Part Two will probably take a similar, if not longer amount of time. I have a wedding to attend and an art exhibit to put together and hang, all in one week. Just a reminder, I altered chapter three a bit on 4-17-09. Though not terribly big, the changes are significant. Again, thank you for reading!

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.

**Chapter Four: Accessorial Dilemma – Part One**

_**3 years, 49 weeks earlier**_

The ancient city-ship of Atlantis floated like a glistening jewel upon the gentle swells of the endless, rolling ocean. Early-morning sunlight glimmered on the multi-hued alloys of her spires and refracted through the stain-glass windows decorating her towers and walkways. Wisps of cloud drifted lazily across the azure sky, floating idly before the sun and dipping languidly into the infinite expanse of unbroken horizon.

A quiet, peaceful day in the recently repopulated city of ancients.

"Wow! Look at this one!"

Miles from the control tower, in an Eastern section of the city, the pleasantly warm sunlight sparkled through a hallway, glittering and twinkling across walls, laboratory equipment, and exposed control crystals. The shimmering flood of life-giving illumination streaming into one of the rooms branching off the hallway was suddenly disrupted by the excited silhouette of Lieutenant Aiden Ford.

"Hey, man. Check it out!"

Annoyed by the abrupt change in lighting, Dr. McKay spared the request a perfunctory glance. His lips curled in disbelief as he did a double take. "Ew. That's the most disgusting thing I've ever seen. Put it down. Now."

Lieutenant Ford looked at the thick, rippling, 3ft. by 4ft. sheet of pulsing algae he was holding, then back at the conspicuous, slimy void on the hallway's wall, where he'd ripped it down from. Reattaching wasn't an option. He turned back to McKay, who was staring at the living curtain with disgust. "But if I put it down, it'll die."

McKay rolled his eyes. "Then maybe you should've thought of that before picking it up in the first place." The Lieutenant merely shuffled his feet and glanced at his cool but gooey burden, clearly at a loss as to what to do with it. Grimacing in revulsion, the scientist huffed in irritation. "Look. Just drop it anywhere."

"But—"

"It's already dead," Rodney snapped. "It just doesn't know it yet."

Aiden frowned skeptically. "How do you figure that?"

"Well, let's see? It's an algae bloom. It's supposed to live in seawater."

"But it didn't grow until a few weeks ago."

"That's because it finally got a look at the sun after sitting on the ocean floor for decades. It thinks it's floating, but there's not enough moisture to sustain it here indefinitely. Why do you think this place smells so bad?"

Ford's eyebrows lifted. "Because the bottom of the ocean stinks of fish?"

Rodney's eyes rolled again. "Yes, Einstein. The ocean stinks of fish. Thank you for that brilliant deduction. Do you see any fish here?"

Dangling from his hands, the green algae slick swayed and rippled as Lieutenant Ford shrugged and glanced around. "Only a few dead ones."

"Exactly! Everything's dead and rotting." Dr. McKay picked up the salt-corroded scanner he'd been examining. Brittle flakes of brown and crispy ocher crumbled at his touch, showering onto his feet. "Even the metal's decayed."

For once, the scientist's words were not a melodramatic exaggeration. The lab they were re-exploring was a putrescent den of dying sea-life. Kelp and other alien seaweeds, all in various stages of liquefaction and desiccation, framed the doorways, dripping down walls and clinging to ceilings. Silt covered the floors, a damp, slick mudpack of accumulated sand and detritus that, having been pushed and pulled by a century of tides, had drifted against walls and in corners to a depth of several feet or more. Deep-sea shellfish, trapped in the risen city and unable to survive the slowly drying environment, decomposed within, adding the stink of rotting fish flesh to the pungent aroma of festering plants, flourishing algae, and thriving mold and mildew.

With a grunt of disgust, Dr. McKay sidestepped a glistening, green-coated ancient computer consol and dropped the flaking scanner into a bin for later disassembly. Grimacing, he wiped his rubber gloves on the slimy crystal controls. "And everything that's not dead and rotting, regardless of whether it contains an ounce of moisture, is being smothered by a thin layer of opportunistic plant cells and bacteria that are Hell-bent on taking advantage of the sunlight. These rooms are a tetanus cesspool. It's a wonder you and I haven't keeled over from septic shock just from breathing."

Lieutenant Ford grinned, chuckling. "C'mon. It's not that bad."

"Yes it is." Rodney waved his hand dismissively at the still dangling algae and walked over to the silt drift he'd been sifting. "Look, just put Swamp Thing's bath towel down and come make yourself useful."

Ford looked at the muddy sludge pile, riddled with bits of shell and pockets of yellowy-orange slime, then at the tubs of water and sieves the scientist was using to filter the putrescent build-up. He shuffled his feet with obvious reluctance, making the algae sheet drip gooey blobs on his combat boots. "But I am being useful."

Dr. McKay didn't look up. "Oh, really?" he thrust his hands into the partially desiccated sludge and dumped a fistful into the nearest sieve before parroting Ford's earlier question. "How do you figure that?"

Lieutenant Ford smiled. "I'm protecting you from the dog-sized octi-crab that pinched Zelenka's butt last time."

"Oh, you mean the DEAD dog-sized octi-crab that pinched Zelenka's butt."

The Lieutenant's face fell. "You heard that message…"

"Yes." Rodney dumped a few more handfuls of silt into the sieve and began swishing it around in the tub of water. "And I also heard Radek say he was sending it to Biology for dissection. Very prudent considering the circumstances."

"I'm not getting out of this, am I?"

"Nope." There was a distinct note of malicious glee in the curt reply.

Resigning himself to the tedious task of silt sifting, Lieutenant Ford awkwardly draped his algae bloom over a gutted, mystery console and joined Dr. McKay in the corner he was excavating. They worked in silence for a while. Four feet deep and three yards wide, the detritus drift was the biggest pile in the lab. Shells and fish bones abounded, as did corroded wire clumps and parts of pressure-squished metal apparatuses. Unfortunately, none of these things looked particularly useful, and none resembled, even remotely, the distinctive objects they were looking for.

A third of the way into the odiferous pile, Rodney rocked back on his heels and rolled his neck with a series of audible cracks. "I can't believe I suggested this," he complained. "It's like looking for a needle in a haystack."

Ignoring McKay's negative vibes, Lieutenant Ford looked passed him and abruptly plunged his hand into the gritty soup the scientist's careless movements had revealed. "Hey!" Aiden laughed excitedly, "I think I found a wraith bit!"

"What? Let me see that."

"No way! Finder's keepers!" Ford dunked the sloppy handful of sand he'd grabbed into the tub of water and swished it around. Dark sand and stringy unidentifiables dropped from his fingers in an inky murk-cloud, revealing a shiny expanse of silvery, and notably non-corroded, metal. Ford whistled, impressed.

Rodney peered over his shoulder. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yeah." Ford shook his find vigorously, rinsing away the last traces of sand as he said proudly, "It's a can-opener."

Dr. McKay stared at the wall, floored by a mixture of incredulous confusion and disbelief. "A can-opener!" he finally spluttered, "What?!"

Pulling the metal object out of the water, Ford held it up in the light. "You know. One of those finger-guard things, like Steve's got. Wraith use 'em to rip open human clothes and armor, same as prying open tins of tuna fish. So, can-openers."

Sparkling through the shards of shattered stain glass windows, the sunlight glinted evilly off the wickedly clawed shell of jointed, razor sharp metal. Rodney gulped nervously, trying not to envision the deadly weapon being employed.

Finally tearing his eyes away, he glared at Ford. "Okay, for once I agree with Sheppard on this front. You," McKay pointed rudely, "don't get to name stuff."

Ford looked hurt. "But it's a can-opener! Just, for bigger and meaner cans."

McKay snatched it away. Carefully. "Finger guard is more than adequate."

"But—"

"No buts." Rodney tossed the wraith finger guard into the bin reserved for interesting stuff. Ford watched forlornly as it clattered hollowly against the empty plastic. It was the only item in there.

"At least we know we're looking in a good place, now," McKay muttered.

Mourning his shiny loss, Lieutenant Ford frowned. "What do you mean?"

Straightening his shoulders, McKay smiled superiorly. "Where one gooey wraith bit doth lay, other bits are as like to drift."

Ford looked at him blankly.

Rodney heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Given the static nature of deep-sea currents, heavy, non-biodegradable parts of our decomposing wraith friend are likely to end up settling in the same place."

"So, if he had a second can-opener it'll probably be near the first one."

Rodney glared at Ford testily, "Yes. The FINGER GUARDS will be together."

The Lieutenant looked at the partially disassembled silt drift. "What about the lighter non-biodegradable parts?"

Thrusting his hands into the gritty sludge, Dr. McKay frowned. "Well, given the point of origin and the distance the heavy metal traveled…" He nodded at the untouched two thirds of the pile. "Hopefully they'll be a yard or two that way."

"And if they're not?"

McKay shrugged and began loading sieves with silt again. "In that case, they could be anywhere. Which, I may add, is why other teams are trawling other rooms."

Rodney's and Ford's radios sputtered to life. "Dr. McKay?"

"Huh," Dr. McKay eyed Ford suspiciously. "What a ridiculous coincidence. Maybe you should ask stupid questions more often." Dipping a glove in the tub to rinse it, Rodney tapped his earpiece. "McKay here."

"This is Dr. Zelenka, with A Team."

"Go ahead, Radek."

"We've got a bead."

Dr. McKay frowned. "Say again?"

"A bead," the Czech repeated. "One of the glowy beads from the old wraith glove. We found one in our area."

"Well, that's great," McKay exclaimed. "Where'd you find it?"

The Czech scientist muttered something barely audible. Ford snickered.

Rodney furrowed his brow. "I didn't quite catch that."

"It was Dr. Sheckle. She, em… pulled it from a pile of octi-crab poo."

Ford was chuckling outright now. McKay grimaced, "Okay, that's just gross."

"That is what I thought."

"Right. Radek, um, thanks for the heads up. We'll concentrate our efforts in your area. Back up will be there shortly. McKay out."

While Lieutenant Ford struggled to control his laughter, Dr. McKay ordered the B and C teams to relocate. Then he returned to his sieve swishing.

Watching him, Ford asked, "Aren't you going to relocate, too?"

"Nope. I am team Zero, as in ground zero." Seeing the Lieutenant's puzzled look, Rodney explained further. "Even though Radek had the first hit, this room is technically the most likely to produce results. So, I stay with the stasis pod."

Scooping an armful of silt into his sieve, Ford turned his head, craning his neck to get a view of the opposite corner of the decaying lab where the empty, kelp-coated stasis alcove dripped in solitary, fishy-smelling splendor. "Wait a minute," Ford said. "The stasis pod's here. Isn't Team A's area, like, at the far end of the flooded sector?"

Rodney nodded. "Yup."

"But that's, like, as far away from here as you can get? If it started off in this stasis pod, how'd the bead end up there?"

The scientist stopped swishing his sieve long enough to give Aiden a look that clearly said the Lieutenant was an idiot. "It's called diffusion. Here, let me illustrate." Dropping his sieve, Rodney got up, skipped to the stasis alcove, and began acting out his explanation as if explaining to a two year old. "Pod breaks. Oops. Wraith decays. Glove decays." He wiggled his fingers and tiptoed around the room. "Gooey wraith and glove bits diffuse into surrounding seawater." Still finger wiggling, he gestured to his sieve. "Heavy gooey bits sink to the floor, where they are covered by silt and detritus."

Offended, Lieutenant Ford frowned in annoyance.

"Light gooey bits," continued Rodney, "like the glove beads, get caught in currents. They float away and land wherever the currents take them. Including into hallways and other flooded rooms."

Lieutenant Ford stared at him. "Or they get eaten by fish who think they're yummy-looking, and octi-crabs who eat the fish poop the beads out in their nests."

Dr. McKay picked his sieve up again. "Yes, well, that's possible too." He swished it in the water tub. "But we're hoping it's not the case."

"Why not?"

"Because that would mean some stupid fish ate the beads and swam out of the city with them. Under those circumstances, we'll never—"

"Recover them all," Ford finished, nodding, "I get it."

McKay scooped some more silt up. "Good. Well, if you get it then, why don't you go help the B and C teams move their equipment. The octi-crab's dead, so I don't need protecting twenty-four seven." He gestured at the slowly diminishing mudpack. "I've got plenty to occupy me here, and I could use a break from distracting questions. You can come back and help me when you're done."

Gratefully setting his sieve on a nearby counter, Lieutenant Ford jumped to his feet. "Yes, Sir. Maybe if you're left alone with silent, gooey wraith bits for a while, you'll appreciate my distracting company more."

Rodney snorted, "I doubt that. Anything that prolongs this disgusting experience, even if it's company, gets a black mark in my book."

Ford rolled his eyes and carefully retrieved his algae curtain from the mystery console he'd draped it over. "See ya, Rodney."

Hearing the squelching plop of dripping plant blobs, Dr. McKay glanced over his shoulder. His eyes widened in concern. "Whoa, whoa! Where are you going with that?"

Confused by the accusing tone, Lieutenant Ford stopped in the doorway. "I'm just taking it outside," he jerked his head towards the hallway. "It's still alive. Thought I'd toss it off the pier, into the water. You know. Give it a fighting chance?"

"Uh, uh. Not without squeezing it first."

"Excuse me?!"

"You want to save it that badly, you better squeeze every square centimeter of it."

Aiden stared at Rodney in disbelief. "Why?"

"Because it grew on the wall. The walls are coated with a century of gunky build-up. There's a chance, however slim, that a bead or two got caught on that gunk. If they did, it stands to reason they would've gotten caught in the algae when it bloomed. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, leaves this sector without being verifiably bead-free."

"So I have to squeeze it to save it."

"Do I hear an echo in here?"

Sighing, Lieutenant Ford draped the algae back over the mystery console. "I'll just leave this for when I get back."

Satisfied, Rodney returned his attention to his swishing. A minute or so of silence, and one half-can-opener later, the scientist's radio squawked to life.

"What if squeezing it kills it?"

McKay's reply was swiftly acerbic, "Well, tough for it, then."

-------------------------------------------------

Far under the Gateroom, in the base of Atlantis's control tower, Major John Sheppard stared intently into the green, unblinking eyes that were peering out at him through the bars of Steve's holding cell. Ever watchful, the marines guarding the cage shifted their weight and exchanged meaningful glances. The battle of wills and concurrent inference of intentions, had been going on for a while now. That meant, in their experience, that today's conversation, like last week's, was important.

The mental posturing continued for another minute or two.

Eventually the human ended it.

Lifting an eyebrow, Sheppard raised a finger.

The wraith cocked his head, hissing softly. "I am your death."

Sheppard slowly nodded in approval. "You're consistent, I'll—"

A slightly louder hiss cut him off as Steve's face swayed closer to the grey, shelf-like bars. "And you, Major John Sheppard," the wraith drew the name out, huffing slightly after the last syllable. The pale lips twitched. "You are my life."

Taken aback, Sheppard leaned away from the bars and frowned. "Somehow," he said, "I don't think you meant that the way it sounded."

Snorting, Steve narrowed his eyes. "Take it however you wish. I'll only acknowledge one meaning."

Disinclined to press his luck, the Major wisely refrained from extrapolating. He leaned back towards the cage. "I'm guessing, you want something today."

The wraith's shoulders glittered in the light as he grasped the interior edge of the nearest bar. "As do you, Major."

"Something more than a comfy bed and hot shower."

"Your Dr. Beckett has been most accommodating…"

The wraith's smooth, reverberating response quietly faded as captive and captor fell into the daily pattern of mutual circling. It was unclear to the watching marines who initiated the movement, but even the greenest marked the differences in the activity. Steve paced the cell loosely, drifting close to make eye contact, then swaying away from the edges, speeding up and slowing down with inconsistent surges of lazily attentive energy that gave his motions a swooping, almost soaring feel. Following the wraith's lead, Sheppard matched his strides without the weaving, keeping close to the cell and darting glances at the walls and ceiling whenever Steve looked away.

It was a very different activity from the intense staring and predatory stalking the marines had watched the pair engage in a few weeks ago.

Realizing he was being offered the dominant role, Sheppard broke the lengthening silence. "So, Steve. What exactly is it that you want?"

The wraith turned and caught his gaze. White, blue-washed hair whispered across freshly cleaned leather during a brief, appraising silence. Then a single, solitary, implication-loaded word hissed around the holding-cell.

"Information."

Sheppard suppressed an urge to laugh. One of the marines by the alcove failed. "That, Steve, is what we humans like to call irony."

The wraith bared his translucent teeth in a dismissive grin. "I am aware of the definition."

"Then you understand that it applies to this situation."

A quick nod followed by a low, disdainful hiss. "Yes, I do."

Surveying Steve thoughtfully, Major Sheppard considered his prisoner's demeanor. 'You are my life.' A blatant, verbal acknowledgement that he was at Sheppard's mercy, followed by deliberate ignoring, and overlooking, of attempts to rile him. Either the wraith was about to give Atlantis something big, or he was preparing to ask for something mammoth. Sheppard suspected the later.

Looking away, the Major mussed his hair. "What sort of information?"

Swaying towards the edge of the cage, Steve laid his feeding hand on the bar below Sheppard's chest and trailed it along the grey metal. The thick pads covering his fingertips and palm rasped conspicuously across the cool surface as the wraith stared intently at his captor's face, clearly attempting to regain eye contact.

"This restraint I wear is not of your making."

Sheppard scratched his ear and glanced at the ceiling. "So you say."

Steve pressed closer. His pale nose almost brushed the cage. Breath misted on the bar as he spoke. "Where did you get it?"

Raising an eyebrow, Sheppard smiled nonchalantly. "Now, why would you care about that?"

The wraith expelled a chuff of air and stopped. His long hair swung past the bars, swaying dangerously close to the invisible force field. "Surely you realize the importance?" Oval-pupils dilated in the dim light. "The implications?"

Also stopping, the Major shrugged noncommittally. "I suppose they're mildly interesting…"

Cocking his head, Steve moved his gloved feeding hand to the horizontal obstruction closest to Sheppard's face. "You can't even begin to conceive the significance of this gift."

The Major studied the ceiling, "I wouldn't exactly call it a gif—"

Abruptly, the wraith hissed confrontationally, "Look at me Human!"

"Sheppard!"

"Look at me Major! John! SHEPPARD!"

Still fixed on the ceiling, Sheppard's eyes flashed. "Why should I?!"

"Because I am attempting to communicate!" Steve snarled angrily, "You have no idea the offense you imply!"

"Then let's say you enlighten me!"

"HIIISSSSSSSSSS!"

There was a pop, and Major Sheppard jumped, momentarily blinded by brilliant light. Briefly visible, the holding cell's force field flashed like a strobe lamp. Steve wheeled away, an irate, hissing flurry of whipping hair and flapping coat panels. As the wraith jerked to a stop, he cradled his feeding hand. The angry snarl gave way to an apprehensive frown. Realizing the ancient, life-giving glove had impacted against the ancient, wraith-zapping force field, Sheppard grabbed the bars and peered past them.

The beads ringing Steve's wrist were sparkling erratically.

Shit. That didn't look good. Sheppard grimaced, "Is it all right?"

Green, trepidation-filled eyes flicked towards him.

"Cause if it's not, McKay's gonna be pissed at you."

The eyes flicked back to the glove. "I do not know." Fingers rhythmically curled and stretched as the wraith flexed his feeding hand. The beads glimmered unevenly for a moment. Suddenly they flared with light. Steve lifted his chin with a gasp, nostrils flaring. Sheppard saw the sensory orifices on his cheeks widen slightly.

The holding cell echoed with a hiss of relief. "It is undamaged."

"Well then, that's good," said the Major, letting go of the bars.

Steve inclined his head, and the glove's beads faded to their usual dimly glowing amber. Then he glanced at Sheppard. Sheppard met the relieved gaze meaningfully.

"Especially considering it's the only thing keeping you alive."

The wraith narrowed his eyes and looked away, white hair swinging.

Sheppard frowned. Apparently the unexpected temper tantrum was over. "Look, Steve…" The prisoner didn't move. "We are aware of the importance of that glove you're borrowing." The Major's blue eyes stared, unwavering, at the submissively averted face. "We understand its significance." Sheppard spoke slowly and firmly, deliberately emphasizing words the wraith had used earlier, showing he'd been listening. In response, Steve's head turned, almost imperceptibly, towards him. "Its capabilities, and the implications of its existence, are perfectly clear."

The pale, light-washed visage swung to face him more fully, though the wraith didn't meet Sheppard's gaze yet. "But you don't know what it is."

The marines guarding the cell exchanged glances as their commander hesitated. A tense quiet permeated the holding cell as Sheppard debated whether it was prudent to have this conversation. Information could potentially flow both ways.

Or it might only flow one…

"No," he finally confirmed, "we don't."

The oval-pupiled eyes drifted shut.

"But we DO know that it's a hybrid of wraith and ancient technology." Sheppard rested his elbows on a horizontal bar and leaned forward, trying to exude an air of confident openness. The foot-long gaps in the cage made the posture awkward, but he managed. "We know a wraith was involved in its development. We know he entrusted his life to ancients. And, given the circumstances of the glove's discovery, and its function, we suspect he was not under duress."

It was like the angry outburst of a minute earlier never happened. The captive's eyes snapped open, fixing on Sheppard's, and Steve crossed to the cell's edge, coat swishing and fingers brushing the metal barrier. The amber beads decorating his gloved feeding hand slid past the Major's face as he swayed to a stop and sank to his human captor's eye-level. Steve cocked his head, taking in the inviting expression.

"Where is this wraith now?" he finally asked.

"He's dead." Hearing a soft hiss, Sheppard lifted a warning finger. "Before you go jumping to conclusions, the answer's no. We didn't do it."

Steve's hiss morphed into a multi-tonal sigh. "And his notes? His research?"

"Destroyed by decades of flooding."

The wraith's lips twitched in obvious disappointment. "That is unfortunate." His gaze slid meaningfully to his feeding hand. "How many of these gloves exist?"

Sheppard lifted a second finger. "Two that we know of."

"Where is the second one?"

"In a plastic box, melting into a puddle of black goo."

Frowning, Steve snapped his eyes back to Sheppard and tilted his head quizzically. "Melting into a puddle?" he spat.

The Major shrugged nonchalantly. "It was destroyed by the flooding too. We're still trying to find all the pieces. Basically, it rotted."

"So there's really only one."

"Only one that's functional," Sheppard corrected.

The wraith rolled his eyes and made a short sound of disgust.

"Yeah, I know," Sheppard smiled wryly. "Sort of puts a dampener on the whole reverse engineering thought, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does." Steve's demeanor suddenly turned serious. He pressed closer, cocking his head the other way. The pale, lichen-marbled skin of his nose and cheek brushed the cage as he shifted position, gripping the bar by the Major's face. Steve bared his translucent teeth in what was probably intended to be an amiable smile. When he spoke, his multi-toned voice was conspicuously devoid of the smallest trace of hostility. It was almost pleasant. "Major Sheppard, I would like to make a request."

Remembering the force field, Sheppard resisted the urge to pull away as the wraith's hair pooled on grey metal, scant inches from his chin. He raised an eyebrow. "Okay…" He'd been wondering how long it would take for the 'something mammoth' he'd predicted earlier to show up. "I'm listening. Request away."

Carefully maintaining eye contact, Steve breathed deeply and flexed his gloved fingers. The beads on his wrist flickered slightly as he continued, "I wish to examine the second glove. And the damaged research materials."

Yeah, that was mammoth. Sheppard pursed his lips. "Is that all?"

The green eyes boring into his face blinked. "I would also like access to a lab, and to see the scientist's, your Doctor McKay's, notes."

Repressing a laugh, Sheppard frowned. "Afraid I'll have to get back to you on that, Steve." Seeing the wraith's lips twitch in disappointment, he shook his head. "Look, I'm not saying that's a, 'No,'" Sheppard clarified. "I have to consult with people. Your cooperating with Carson has been great, but McKay's another matter entirely. And, you have to admit, Steve, letting you out of that cage is a bit of a security risk."

Steve looked away long enough to glance pointedly at the cell behind him. "There is much I could accomplish in this room." He peered at Sheppard earnestly. "Data is portable. Your scientists would benefit from my knowledge."

Grimacing, Major Sheppard pursed his lips. The wraith was serious. If they ever regained contact with Earth, honoring his request would create an awful logistical mess. The IOA would have a cow. Not that Sheppard cared, really… But the potential for disaster was enormous. Yet, the potential for mutual benefit was equally so…

Coming to a decision, the Major mussed his hair and nodded. "Look, I can't make any guarantees, but I'll take it up with Dr. Weir. That's the best I can do."

The wraith studied Sheppard silently for several long, drawn out seconds. Then he inclined his face minutely. "That is acceptable."

Sheppard resisted the urge to comment on the illusion of choice Steve's word implied. Now was when he'd find out whether the conversation would pay off. The Major's blue eyes studied Steve intently. "Anything else to add?"

Silence stretched in the holding cell once more. The movements of watchful marines shifting uneasily behind the focused pair sounded unnaturally loud.

Just when Sheppard was starting to get sick of the apparently pointless staring contest, Steve's eyes widened suddenly. "When we come for you, you'll have time to prepare. But it will do Atlantis no good." His multi-tonal voice dropped, reverberating sinisterly in the sparse chamber. "The scouts will come first. Anywhere from one to a dozen, depending on who sends them. You will have time to reflect on your demise. Then a vanguard of two to six hives and heavy battle cruisers will follow."

Sheppard interrupted, "Would you care to be more specific?"

Steve expelled his breath in a short chuff of annoyance. "I am already speculating." He looked away for a moment. The oval-pupiled eyes narrowed with thought as his ungloved fingers idly stroked the bar they were resting on. Finally he looked back. "Assuming the political status and territories of the hives occupying this sector haven't changed since my capture, I would predict three."

"Three hives?" Sheppard tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.

A quick nod. "Yes. Each with a standard formation of three heavy cruisers."

Scratching his head, Sheppard had no trouble acting impressed. How could they take out three hives without a ZPM? "Twelve ships. That's a lot to send after one city."

The wraith hissed softly. "Twelve is only the beginning. More will follow." The green eyes darted away. "Anywhere from two hives to several dozen." Looking pensive, Steve glanced at Sheppard again. "I can't be more specific. The number depends on the level of Atlantis's resistance. I cannot predict that."

Sheppard frowned, "That's okay. I'd be worried if you could."

Steve's lips quirked in amusement, "You are not worried now?"

"Meh," Sheppard's shoulders rose in a noncommittal shrug, "I'll worry when it happens." And pray to God in the mean time that it doesn't. Out of the corners of his eyes, Sheppard saw marines exchanging nervous glances. He cleared his throat. "What about the third wave? We repel several dozen hives. What next?"

Steve smiled predatorily, "You think it will come to that?"

"Let's just say I'm not eliminating it from the realm of possibilities."

Blinking slowly in acknowledgment, the wraith tilted his head and echoed Sheppard's shrug while hissing, "Perpetual, unrelenting siege." As the echoes of 'seige' faded, Steve frowned in feigned regret. "Sadly, I am a scientist. Not a tactician. I am unqualified to predict what that entails. Like you Lanteans, we can be quite creative."

Sheppard raised a mocking eyebrow. "Yeah, I bet you can." Removing his elbows from the bar, he backed away a few paces. Steve straightened, following his captor with his gaze. His fingers, gloved and ungloved, gripped the cage warily.

Keeping eye contact, Sheppard tapped his radio deliberately. "Dr. Weir, this is Major Sheppard."

"Go ahead, Major."

"Our wild card paid off. Tell Sergeant Bates that he has a go."

Inside the cell, the wraith cocked his head quizzically.

"Very well, Major. I'll get right on it. Weir out."

Major Sheppard lowered his hand and loosely crossed his arms. Looking serious, he inclined his head towards the puzzled prisoner. "Congratulations, Steve. You just saved yourself from a potentially unpleasant experience."

Coat swinging, Steve huffed and retreated. "I don't understand," he hissed.

Sheppard sighed, surprised by the flicker of relief he felt. He hid the emotion carefully. "Let's hope you never do."

-------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading! Please review! If it helps, things I'm working on specifically are: 1. Maintaining a Season 1 feel in the flashback chapters. 2. Keeping the regulars in character.


	6. Chapter 5: Accessorial Dilemma Part 2

Again, sorry for the wait. After the wedding and the exhibit, I got sick. That knocked me for a loop all last week. Then I had to do a bit of traveling. I'm posting this from California! There's so much to do! I've never been to the West Coast before. I'm a New Englander. Thank you for your patience. I hope the wait was worth it.

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.

**Chapter Five: Accessorial Dilemma - Part Two**

_**3 years, 49 weeks earlier**_

Above the Gateroom, Dr. Weir stepped past the DHD console and clasped her hands behind her back as she looked down at the activity taking place before the Stargate. marines jogged back and forth, carrying out their appointed tasks with orderly efficiency as their comrades emerged from the rippling surface of the wormhole. A cluster of heavily armed soldiers surrounding a pair carrying a stretcher trotted through, followed by a single, dark-skinned officer dripping with wraith stunners.

Handing off the pilfered weapons to a subordinate, the officer raised his black, serious eyes to the balcony. He nodded to Elizabeth, calling, "That's everyone."

Dr. Weir turned to the technician manning the DHD. "Shut it down."

As the shimmering wormhole collapsed in on itself with an air crackling shhmmp, Peter Grodin left his station and moved to stand beside her. He looked at the forest of stunners pointing at the swaying stretcher with interest. "It would appear Sergeant Bates's mission was successful."

"Indeed it does," murmured Elizabeth.

Peter glanced at her. "You do not sound pleased."

Dr. Weir sighed, letting her face and tone hint at the trepidation and reservations she wrestled with. "Nothing about this situation pleases me."

Frowning slightly, he looked back to the Stargate. The stretcher was slowly being carried out of the room. "Yet you persist upon the chosen path."

"Because it is the best option."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "But that does not make it the right one?"

Elizabeth smiled slightly, "Not necessarily, no."

"I see."

Grasping the railing, Dr. Weir leaned out over the Gateroom floor. "Sergeant," she called, "Secure our new guest. Then report to the debriefing room. I'll be waiting."

The dark-skinned officer paused in his directing of marines long enough to give her a curt nod. "Yes, Ma'am. I'll be there in fifteen. This won't take long." Snapping a few last orders, Bates turned on his heel and followed the stretcher.

Elizabeth watched as the procession disappeared from view. Then she tapped her radio. "Major Sheppard, this Dr. Weir."

The radio crackled. "Go ahead."

"Sergeant Bates is back. Debriefing in fifteen minutes."

"Any casualties?" Sheppard asked.

"Not that I'm aware of," Elizabeth said. "He's securing the guest."

The Major was silent a moment. Dr. Weir heard the murmur of voices in the background. Then… "I'm on my way. Sheppard out."

Leaving Peter Grodin in charge of the Gateroom, Dr. Weir turned away from the railing and headed for her office, intending to prepare for the debriefing.

-------------------------------------------------

Fifteen minutes later, Dr. Weir and Major Sheppard looked up as Sergeant Bates entered the debriefing room. Smiling pleasantly, Atlantis's Head of Security acknowledged his superiors. "Dr. Weir, Major Sheppard."

Elizabeth smiled back. "Have a seat, Sergeant."

The rotating wall panel they'd left open for a door swiveled shut as Bates came around the circular table and took the chair on Sheppard's left. As he sat, the Major raised an eyebrow. "How's our new guest settling in?"

Bates leaned his elbows on the ancient conference table. "Not awake yet, Sir."

"Too bad." Sheppard shrugged, "I bet he's a stimulating conversationalist."

"Somehow I doubt that."

On Sheppard's right, Dr. Weir clasped her hands together and turned her chair slightly to better face the two officers. "Shall we get this started?"

Crossing his legs, Major Sheppard sat back and looked at Bates. "Yes, let's. Report, soldier."

Bates nodded and got down to business. "The mission went like clockwork—"

"Clockwork? I wish my missions would go like clockwork."

"Technically you did help plan this one, Sir."

The Major conceded the point with a grin, and Sergeant Bates continued, stating the events of ninety minutes earlier in a succinct, matter-of-fact tone. "After Major Sheppard gave the go ahead, I took my team through the Stargate, to the planet where we caught the prisoner. We set up an ambush in the ruins near the gate, same as before. Then, when the area was secure, Lieutenant Ford brought through the transmitter."

Dr. Weir interrupted, "You're referring to Teyla's necklace?"

Bates nodded, "Yes, Ma'am. The same necklace that gave away SGA-1's position a couple months ago. The one we used to lure our first prisoner."

"He has a name, you know," Sheppard quipped, "It's Steve."

Sergeant Bates shot the Major a dark look. "With all due respect, Sir. The prisoner is the prisoner. He hasn't given us a name yet."

"A minor detail."

Elizabeth ignored the digression. "Dr. McKay had no problems reactivating it?"

The Sergeant returned his attention to Dr. Weir. "No, Ma'am. He had it up and running in twenty minutes. He's deactivating it as we speak."

Chuckling, Major Sheppard also turned to her. "You should've been there, Elizabeth. When I first radioed the requests in? I don't think I've ever seen Rodney so happy about being repeatedly interrupted. He couldn't get up to his lab fast enough."

Elizabeth Weir raised an amused eyebrow. "Getting tired of trawling through sludge, is he?"

"I think, 'bacteria infested cesspools,' was the term he used," Sheppard corrected.

Sergeant Bates frowned at his superiors in annoyance. "As I was saying, Lieutenant Ford brought the reactivated transmitter through the Stargate. We dropped it in the grass and watched from undercover. We waited seventeen minutes. Then wraith approached the transmitter. There were eight. Two officers. Six masked grunts."

Major Sheppard frowned. "Twice as many as last time."

"I'm not sure I like that trend," Elizabeth added. She eyed Sheppard uneasily. "If we ever try this again, we'll need to take extra precautions."

"I already have several recommendations on that front," Bates said. "They'll be in the conclusion of my report."

Elizabeth nodded in approval, "Okay. So, the wraith arrived…?"

Sergeant Bates continued his report, addressing both Weir and Sheppard. "When they reached the transmitter, we sprung the trap. We targeted the officers first. They went down hard and fast, three stun blasts each."

Sheppard winced, "Unconscious before they hit the ground…"

"Unconscious before they could self-destruct," Bates clarified. "Taking out the officers sent the other wraith into temporary chaos. In the resulting confusion, we managed to drop two using the same concentrated targeting method. Then they regrouped. Started to return fire. We didn't have enough stunners to knock them all down quickly—"

"A matter which you've rectified nicely, I might add," Major Sheppard interjected. He glanced at Weir. "He just doubled our stunner inventory."

"More than doubled." Sergeant Bates smirked. "Two pistols and eight blasters."

"Impressive," murmured Elizabeth. "Please continue, Sergeant."

"Yes, Ma'am. Three of the masked wraith managed to blow themselves up before we completely immobilized them. The fourth we dropped after a short firefight. We posted guards on each wraith, in case they woke up, stripped them of weapons, and chose a grunt at random. That grunt we stripped of his armor, as a precaution."

"To prevent him from blowing up?" Dr. Weir asked.

Bates nodded, "And to save time and resources later."

"See," Sheppard said, "The less equipment goes into the cell, the fewer times we have to stun him to get it all out."

"Is that really a problem?" Elizabeth frowned.

Sheppard shrugged, "Not really, no—"

"But it can take up to four shots to knock a grunt out," Bates added.

"And the stunners are damn useful," Sheppard continued. "We don't know how long they'll remain energized."

Elizabeth nodded, "I see. Conserving ammunition."

"Yes, Ma'am." Sergeant Bates returned to his report. "After the wraith was stripped, we brought out the stretcher we'd stashed in the woods. We switched the dead grunt Dr. Becket donated from Atlantis's morgue for the stunned one. Then we fitted the corpse with a modified self-destruct chest plate—"

"Modified?" Dr. Weir interrupted.

"Rodney wired it for remote detonation," Sheppard whispered.

"Lieutenant Ford gave each unconscious wraith a stun to the head, so they wouldn't wake up. Then we cleared the area and detonated the corpse. We removed all traces of our presence, and brought our prisoner back through the Stargate."

Elizabeth stared at her entwined fingers thoughtfully. "You left the four stunned wraith behind. Alive…"

Sergeant Bates nodded. "With any luck, the corpse will make them think the fourth grunt self-destructed. They'll never know he's missing."

"But you left witnesses," Dr. Weir pressed. "That's a dangerous risk."

"One we agreed beforehand was worth taking," Sheppard reminded her.

"I realize that."

"Look. We want these wraith confused as Hell, but curious." Sheppard grinned nonchalantly. "Leaving them alive is the best way to accomplish that."

"He's right, Ma'am," Bates agreed. "If we need to bag another wraith in the future, we want them to come willingly in small quantities. If they think the danger's too great, they'll swarm in overpowering force, or ignore the transmitter completely."

"Neither of which would be helpful…" Still staring at her hands, Elizabeth sighed. "Did they see you? Can the attack, in any way, be traced to Atlantis?"

"No," Sergeant Bates glanced at Major Sheppard. "We took precautions to prevent that. For starters, the officers were taken down before they could see us."

"What about the masked wraith?"

"Camouflage," Sheppard interjected. He smiled cheekily. "Marines are good at playing dress up."

"We used clothes obtained from off-world trading markets," Bates confirmed. "We hid P-90s and distinctive Earth weapons in the underbrush, in case things went bad, but we never used them. Other than stunners, the only weapons the grunts saw were a handful of bows borrowed from the Athosians."

"We don't know exactly how masked wraith communicate," Sheppard added, "seeing as they never talk. But Dr. Beckett suspects they transfer images telepathically. What the officers will see in their memories is a bunch of primitives with scavenged stunners. With any luck, they'll think the self-destruct explosions scared us off."

Dr. Weir frowned. "What about the transmitter? It's still emitting the same signal. Wraith aren't stupid, Major. They'll make the connection."

"A valid point," Sheppard conceded. "Given the scenario we constructed, we're hoping they'll assume we ditched the necklace to hide our tracks. Or traded it, advertising it as wraith bait."

"We've tried to make that the only reasonable conclusion they can draw," Sergeant Bates added.

Still frowning, Elizabeth shook her head. "Assumptions. That's what I'm hearing, gentlemen. Assumptions relying on assumptions. This isn't inspiring confidence."

"Yeah, well…" Sheppard shrugged and exchanged a look with Bates, "Ultimately it doesn't matter if the wraith buy it."

Sergeant Bates nodded. "He's right, Ma'am. If the wraith reject what they saw, or see through the ruse, it'll just confuse them as to our purpose."

"Increasing their curiosity…" Dr. Weir murmured.

Major Sheppard bounced his crossed legs. "It actually might be better if they do see through us. It'll definitely perplex them."

"Especially since we didn't kill or abduct the officers…" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "What if—"

Just then, all the radios in the room simultaneously crackled to life.

"Unscheduled off-world activation," Peter Grodin announced.

As one, Dr. Weir, Major Sheppard, and Sergeant Bates looked towards the Gateroom. There was only one team off-world at the moment.

"Reading Dr. Beckett's IDC."

Dr. Weir tapped her radio. "Let him through, Peter." She glanced at the two officers questioningly. "I think this debriefing was just about over?"

Bates nodded. "Any details overlooked will be in my report."

"Good." Getting up, Elizabeth headed for the Gateroom. Major Sheppard and Sergeant Bates followed her around the conference table, and the rotating wall panels enclosing the debriefing room swiveled on their pivots, opening to let them out.

When they reached the balcony, Atlantis's Head of Security peeled off. "I'll be in the holding cells," Bates said, "observing the new prisoner."

Sheppard watched him leave, calling, "Say, 'Hi,' to Steve for me."

"With all due respect? Not on your life, Sir."

The Major shrugged, "Oh well. I was going to visit later anyway…"

"Dr. Weir?" Looking up from his console, Peter Grodin faced the Stargate. "Dr. Beckett's coming through the wormhole now."

Hooking a curl of brown hair behind her ear, Elizabeth braced her hands on the railing and watched with interest as the white-coated form of Dr. Beckett skipped out of the rippling blue circle. Major Sheppard rested his elbows on the balustrade next to her and leaned forward, scrutinizing the bouncing, white-coated scientist with amusement.

"Now, that's something you don't see every day," he observed.

Even from two stories up, the Scotsman's excitement was obvious. As they looked on, Carson turned a three-sixty, lab coat flapping, and scoured the Gateroom's many doors and windows and crannies, calling eagerly, "Elizabeth?"

Dr. Weir waved. "Over here, Carson."

Catching sight of her, the doctor laughed and waved back. "An' Major Sheppard too! Perfect!" He jogged to the sweeping stairway that provided access to the control room and started running up it. Sheppard and Weir moved to intercept.

"Ah can tell ye both at one time!"

Atlantis's commanders met the doctor halfway down, on the landing.

"Tell us what, Carson?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yeah, what's the rush," Sheppard quipped. "You discover off-world haggis?"

Dr. Becket frowned good-naturedly. "Do ye have any idea how offensive 'at particular stereotype is? Haggis jokes are a bit outdated."

Sheppard shrugged, "I thought I updated it nicely."

"Well, it did'nae work, now did it?"

"Carson?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, reminding the pair of her presence. "I was under the impression you had something pressing to tell us?"

Carson quickly brightened again. "Aye, ah did. Ah do." Shoving his hands in his pockets, he happily bounced on the balls of his feet. "Ah've got great news!"

Dr. Weir quirked a smile expectantly.

Still bouncing, Carson smiled back.

"Well… Spit it out!" Sheppard urged.

Dr. Beckett's mouth opened in a little 'oh.' "Right! Sorry!" He stopped bouncing and tried to look serious. He succeeded for two beats, then ruined the stoic expression by breaking into an eager grin. "We did it!" Carson blurted.

"Did what?!" mimicked Sheppard.

"We perfected the delivery system! 100% cellular penetration, and 100% reproducible results! Our synthetic protein is ready for the next stage of testing."

Sheppard frowned. "You're referring to the Hoffans' drug?"

Carson nodded, "What else?" He looked at Dr. Weir. "Perna's presenting our results to the Hoffan government as we speak!"

"And what IS the next stage of testing?" Elizabeth asked.

Dr. Beckett's eyes darted excitedly to the ceiling, "Oh, ah would guess… Larger tissue samples, varying dosage rates… Live animal tests followed by dissection for tracking the drug's uptake levels in various organs… And, o' course, observation and testing of animals and tissues for various side effects… Then after tha', ah'll have to design a safe, an' feasible, way to conduct human tria—"

"Okay," Elizabeth laughed, "I get the picture."

"It's a great success, this, but there's still a lot o' work to do—"

"They why exactly did you come back here?" Sheppard interrupted. Elizabeth glanced at him. "Not that I'm complaining, of course," he added.

"Right!" Carson looked imploringly at Dr. Weir. "Ah'd like permission to take additional equipment through the Gate. An' to increase my personnel a wee bit."

Elizabeth nodded. "How much, and how many?"

"Well, ah was thinking about a few—"

Major Sheppard's radio crackled. "Sergeant Bates to Major Sheppard."

"Go ahead, Sergeant."

"Sir, the new prisoner is awake."

"New prisoner?" Carson whispered. "Wha' new prisoner?"

"I think you should come down here, Sir," Bates continued.

Sheppard frowned. "Is there a problem, Sergeant?"

Sergeant Bates was silent for a moment. In the ensuing quiet, an odd, erratic buzzing could be heard in the background. Then… "Let's just say, this holding cell's doing a decent impression of a giant bug zapper, Sir."

Major Sheppard cursed. "I'll be right down. Sheppard out." He glanced regretfully at Dr. Weir. "I'll be going now. You know, check this out."

Dr. Weir nodded understandingly. "Please do. Let me know how it turns out."

Sheppard turned to go. As he did, Dr. Beckett loosely grabbed his arm. "Wait a moment, Major. Wha' new prisoner?"

Smiling enigmatically, Major Sheppard clapped Carson on the shoulder. "Congratulations, Doc! Not only did you succeed on your tests. You get to try your drug on a new set of giant bug samples. Giant, UGLY, bug samples."

Carson suddenly looked horrified. "Ye did'nae catch another wraith?"

Sheppard started jogging down the stairs, calling, "You'll find out soon enough."

"But Major! We only 'ave tha' one glove!"

-------------------------------------------------

"There's another of my kind here…"

Steve's eyes bored into Sheppard's as the Major approached the cell slowly, almost warily. "Yeah, there is. I take it you can sense that?"

A low hiss and a slight tilt of the head. "Of course…"

Sheppard watched Steve's behavior carefully. The wraith stood in the exact center of the square cage, spine ramrod straight, entire body bathed in the brightest light. He made no move to close the distance between them. Sheppard felt a twinge of unease. This was new. There'd been no posturing. No feigned ignorance of his presence. The wraith had been staring at Sheppard while he was still descending the stairs to the alcove.

It was a little unnerving… Dare he even say… creepy?

Naahhh… Deliberately avoiding looking at Lieutenant Ford, who was standing behind him with a pistol-shaped stunner, Sheppard raised an eyebrow at Steve. "I don't suppose you can communicate with him, too?"

The wraith didn't so much as twitch. "Again… Of course…"

The Major crossed his arms and adopted a mocking, military posture. "In that case, could you ask him to stop, you know… Throwing himself at the force field?"

Steve blinked slowly. "Why have you brought him here?"

Sheppard cocked his head. "That's for me to know, and you never to know."

White hair rustled softly across the black coat as Steve mirrored the tilt of his captor's face. "His fate concerns me."

"Obviously."

"His mind cries out for guidance."

"Cause he sensed you back, I assume."

The wraith hissed sharply. "His agitation is distasteful."

Sheppard paused, intrigued. He hadn't expected Steve's interest in the masked wraith to go beyond knowing what Atlantis wanted it for. Apparently he'd misjudged this slightly. "Then why not tell him to calm down?"

Straightening, Steve let out a short chuff of air. "How will you sustain him?"

"Ohhh… I don't know. Let's see…" Sheppard glanced at the ceiling for a moment. He shook his head. "That's not any of your business, now, is it?"

The wraith's lips twitched in a disdainful, yet fleeting, sneer. "Do you intend for me to share?" The green eyes flicked briefly to his feeding hand.

Amused, Sheppard wandered his gaze down Steve's arm and across the sleek fabric encasing the deadly feeding slit. "What? Share the glove?" He shrugged and looked up again. "Who knows? Like I said. Not your business."

Steve hissed, a low venting of obvious frustration. His body went eerily motionless. "If I am to be subjected to his hunger, it becomes my business."

Intrigued once more, Sheppard filed that comment away for future study. "Well, then. We'll cross that bridge IF we come to it, won't we?"

Icy silence met the Major's words.

Realizing they were on the verge of a stubbornly drawn out, 'die before you blink,' totally unproductive staring contest, Sheppard sighed in annoyance and moved closer to the cell. "Look, Steve…" The wraith glared stonily at him. "Both I know, and you know, that you've got very low security clearance on Atlantis. Comes with the whole 'being a prisoner' thing." Neither the prisoner's expression, nor his posture changed, but the stony glare boring into Sheppard's face was suddenly, and definitely, a hateful, frosty glare of death. The Major raised an eyebrow warningly. "What I CAN tell you is this: He's probably not going to be on Atlantis long enough to get hungry."

"What IS he going to be on Atlantis long enough for!?" Steve snarled.

Letting a perplexed note of disbelief enter his voice, Major Sheppard stepped up to the cage and gripped the horizontal bars. "Long enough to drive you crazy with curiosity, it seems." When Steve snarled again, Sheppard looked away and made a show of peering at the spaces between the bars. "What part of NO isn't getting through this force field…?" he muttered. Lieutenant Ford and a few of the marines chuckled.

Steve turned away, letting out a short, multi-toned growl of disgust.

Returning his attention to the cell's occupant, Major Sheppard frowned thoughtfully and leaned forward. He studied the irritated wraith in silence a moment. Then he cocked his head slightly. "His presence is really bugging you, isn't it?"

No response. The eerie motionlessness was back, only the view had shifted 90.

He decided to take it for an affirmative. "Now. Why would that be, I wonder…?" Sheppard murmured.

Letting out a low hiss, Steve slid his oval-pupils towards his captor. "What did you come down here to ask, Human?"

Sheppard caught the smoldering gaze and held it. "It's Sheppard," he said, more out of habit than offense.

"What did you come down here to ask, Major Sheppard?"

Sheppard frowned. This was interesting. The anger in the wraith's eyes wasn't directed at him. Well, maybe a bit was, but the majority… He didn't know where it was aimed, but he sensed it wasn't at him or any of the soldiers here. He silently cursed Steve. The wraith obviously was opposed to discussing his personal feelings regarding the new prisoner's presence, but, dammit, those personal feelings were getting interesting. Yet Sheppard couldn't pursue the topic because Steve had just steered the conversation to its original purpose, which was an opportunity he couldn't pass on.

Which, of course, the wraith knew…

Circling the cage, Major Sheppard positioned himself in front of Steve. The wraith held his gaze as he moved, eyes tracking. "The other wraith…" Sheppard began, "He's kinda throwing himself at his cell's force field…"

Steve snorted softly. "What has that got to do with me?"

"I want you to make him stop."

A slow, lazy, yet somehow long-suffering, blink. "Why should I?"

"Well…" Major Sheppard shrugged, "Considering the request you made a few hours ago, it might be wise to exhibit a certain degree of cooperation."

The wraith's tense posture relaxed. "Very well…" Light glittered off the long coat's faceted shoulders as Steve paced a tight circle. His straight, blue-lit hair swished to and fro as his head turned to keep Sheppard in view. "You realize he may not listen?"

Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Why not?"

A disgusted growl. "He's not from my hive."

"Really?" Now that was a surprise… Sheppard had assumed that if the wraith were caught in the same place, they'd come from the same place. "Why should that matter? He's got a mask. You don't. Wraith like him listen to wraith like you." At least, that was Dr. Beckett's current theory…

Steve snorted. "A foolish assumption. What use are soldiers who switch allegiance to whichever commander addresses them?"

"I had wondered about that…" Sheppard admitted. He mussed his hair. "Well, if he won't listen, could you find out why he's doing it?"

Another disgusted growl, followed by a sharp turn and the accompanying snap of the wraith's heavy leather coat. "He does it because he was trained poorly."

Sheppard blinked. "That was fast. He won't listen, but he'll dis his teachers?"

The wraith's eyes rolled. "If he had been trained well, he wouldn't be doing it."

Sheppard supposed that made sense. "I see…" Not really, but… "So you haven't contacted him yet, then?"

"No," Steve snapped. He continued pacing in tight circles. "And I would prefer to only do so once. Is there anything else you wish me to ask?"

Straightening, Major Sheppard clasped his hands behind his head. "Well, since you mentioned it… How about, where his hive is. Where his hive's territory is. How much firepower it's got. How much man pow— Excuse me, wraith power it's got. Masked, unmasked, etc… How many darts it has. How many cruisers—"

A snort interrupted the lengthening list. "You do realize," Steve's hair rippled as he shook his head, "that this wraith isn't intelligent enough to provide any of that? Compared to me, or you, his mental capacity is negligible."

"Can't blame a guy for trying." Sheppard thought a moment, fishing for ideas. He caught one. "Okay then… Ask him if he's seen anything interesting."

Steve stopped short. "Did you even hear what I just said?"

"Yeah," Sheppard said, "I did. You said he's an idiot."

"He is not qualified to decide whether something is interesting."

Sheppard spread his hands encouragingly and smiled. "Sometimes idiots notice things. Just ask the question," he coaxed. "Take a look at what he shows you."

Silence… Steve's face was unreadable. His next words, which came almost a minute later, hissed past tightly clenched teeth. "And then?"

"Then?" Sheppard shrugged pleasantly. "Your intelligence ISN'T negligible."

More silence. This time of the icy, frigid, death glare kind.

Finally the Major sighed. "Look, Steve. Exercise your own judgment." He made a dismissive, shooing gesture. "Well, go on. Ask him."

The wraith expelled a sharp chuff of air. Then the green, annoyed eyes slipped close, and the pale face bowed slightly. The lithe, black-clad form went very still.

In the quiet that followed, a dropped pin would've hit the floor like a gunshot. Lieutenant Ford and the marines guarding the holding cell exchanged glances, each wondering how long this would take. Eyes drifting away from the statue-like prisoner, Major Sheppard added an indifferent shrug to the voiceless conversation. It would take as long as it took. There was nothing to be don—

His radio crackled in the stillness, startling him. Thankfully the prisoner's closed eyes meant he didn't see Sheppard jump. "Sergeant Bates to Major Sheppard."

Sheppard slapped his radio. "Sheppard here. Go ahead, Sergeant."

"The new prisoner stopped, Sir. He's not ramming the force field anymore."

"What's he doing now?"

"Just standing there, Sir. Doesn't seem to be doing anything."

The Major nodded, pleased. "He's communicating telepathically. Keep me posted, Sergeant. If he starts up again, let me know immediately."

"Yes, Sir."

"Sheppard out." Tapping his radio off, Sheppard gripped a horizontal bar and leaned forward, peering into the cage intently. Steve remained motionless.

"Think he's really doing it, Sir?" Lieutenant Ford whispered, moving to peer through the bars beside him. "Asking the question, I mean."

"Oh, he's doing it all right…" Sheppard muttered.

They both watched the prisoner silently for a while.

Suddenly Steve's body jerked with a short, gasping hiss. His face lifted slightly.

"Okay, that's weird," the Lieutenant remarked.

"Quiet, Ford. That's an order," Sheppard frowned in agreement. It WAS weird… The wraith's eyes were still closed, but they were moving, erratically tracking up and down and side to side beneath the pale lids. Furrows ticked across the whitewashed brow, spasming out of existence as quickly as they formed. Steve's lips twitched, repeatedly revealing and concealing his sharp, translucent teeth.

Sheppard leaned closer to the force field, morbidly fascinated by the display. It was like watching someone experiencing REM sleep. Only more active…

Steve's nostrils flared abruptly, and the beads decorating his feeding hand flickered with light, then dimmed as he inhaled deeply and hissed.

Okay. A LOT more active… Major Sheppard made a mental note to inform Carson of this episode. Whatever exchange was taking place between the prisoners' minds was a lot more complicated than trading visual imagery. Steve seemed to be processing data from a wide variety of sensory sources.

As if in conformation of his thoughts, the orifices on Steve's cheeks widened and he reeled back a step, violently expelling a chuff of air.

Sheppard made a second note. This time to remind himself to ask what interesting tidbit had triggered that response…

Apparently recovered, Steve snorted softly and moved back to his original position. The twitching and closed-eye tracking started again.

The marines guarding the holding cell kept a quiet vigil as Sheppard and Ford observed the telepathic conversation. Fabric rustled as they watched and waited, occasionally shifting their weight or craning their necks for a better view. Minutes passed. Glances of disbelief were traded and passed around like a telephone game. Sergeant Bates checked in saying the other prisoner was still imitating statuary.

The wraith continued to tic and jerk spasmodically, interspersing the quiet, involuntary responses with unpredictable louder, and more extreme, reactions.

Sheppard began to wonder how long Steve could keep this up. He had to tire eventually. Mentally at least, if not physically…

Fifteen minutes later, Ford was failing miserably at hiding the fact that he was bored, the marines were doing the wave by making subtle finger gestures, and Major Sheppard was feeling suitably impressed by the wraith's mental stamina. He was beginning to suspect that Steve's earlier reluctance to ask this particular question had nothing to do with the masked wraith's intelligence. It was the length of its answer…

Maybe Sheppard should've taken the subtle cue and picked a different question.

Oh well. Too late now…

He clapped Lieutenant Ford on the shoulder. "Hold down the fort," Sheppard whispered. "I'll be back in a bit."

Ford looked at him, wide-eyed. "You're gonna leave me with him? Like this?"

"Yeah," Sheppard glanced at Steve. "Something tells me this'll take a while."

"But it's freakin' creepy, Sir!" Ford softly hissed. "The whole eye thing—"

"There's a force field between you and half a dozen marines at your back!"

"But—"

"No but's, soldier!" Sheppard grinned. "I'm just gonna see if Carson's still here."

"That's what your radio's for!" Ford protested.

The Major glared sternly. "I have other things to check too. I'm leaving. Stay."

"What if he stops?" The Lieutenant was grasping at straws.

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "In that case, you radio me and I'll hurry back."

Before Ford could protest again, Major Sheppard straightened and pushed away from the cage, striding quickly for the alcove and the stairs within.

As the Major's footsteps died away, Lieutenant Ford tore his eyes from the spot where his commanding officer had disappeared and glanced back at the cage. Steve was still doing… Whatever… He looked at the marines, nodding in acknowledgement of their presence. The marines nodded stoically, as if to say, 'we got you covered.' "Okay," he muttered. "Just you guys and me. You and me." Cradling his stunner, he faced the cage again. "You and me… And the creepy twitching…"

Ford jumped slightly as Steve chuffed loudly and flexed his feeding hand. The beads flickered and the wraith hissed sinisterly. They dimmed again.

Lieutenant Ford swallowed uneasily. He missed the creepy staring already…

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Thank you for reading! Please review! Again, things I'm working on specifically are: 1. Maintaining a Season 1 feel in the flashback chapters. 2. Keeping the regulars in character.


	7. Chapter 6: Accessorial Dilemma Part 3

I'm afraid I have no excuse for this wait other than that this chapter is ridiculously long compared to the others. (I refused to make an Accessorial Dilemma Part 4.) I hope you enjoy this installment. Thank you for your patience!

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.

**Chapter Six: Accessorial Dilemma - Part Three**

_**3 years, 49 weeks earlier**_

"Ah don' care wha' Major Sheppard an' Sergeant Bates said! It isn't right!" Arms crossed over the clipboard carried against his chest, (almost as if to protect himself from what he'd just learned), Dr. Beckett stared pleadingly as Elizabeth. "There's a big difference between experimenting on a prisoner we didn' kno' we couldnae keep alive, which is wha' Steve used to be, an' catching a new prisoner specifically for the purpose o' testing experimental drugs. Ah can't support this."

Getting up, Dr. Weir came around her desk and laid a reassuring hand on Dr. Beckett's shoulder. "I understand your concern, Carson. Please believe me when I say this," she smiled earnestly, "it's not as bad as it looks."

Dr. Beckett's face portrayed the essence of disappointment. "Ah certainly hope not. 'Cause right now it looks like Atlantis is tryin' to 'ave her cake an' eat it too. Morals be damned. Ah'm tellin' ye now. Ah won't work tha' way."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, concerned. "You'd abandon the entire project? After all the work you've put into it?"

Carson met her questioning eyes seriously and firmly nodded. "Aye. Ah would."

"Even knowing the Hoffans will continue without you?" she pressed. "Knowing Atlantis might as well?"

Dr. Beckett frowned. "Ah doubt ye'll find a doctor willing to continue if ah stop. We all took the Hippocratic oath. We don' treat ethics lightly."

"Well, neither do I." Dr. Weir squeezed Carson's shoulder approvingly. "Actually, I would've been disturbed if you hadn't approached me about this. Your commitment to morality and ethics is invaluable." She gestured to the chairs lining her office's glass wall. "Please, take a seat. I see I have some explaining to do."

Reluctantly, Dr. Becket adjusted his lab coat and plopped down, laying his clipboard across his knees. "Aye, ye do." The Scottsman's fingers drummed nervously on his wish list of supplies. When Elizabeth opened her mouth to begin, he blurted, "Do ye have any idea how hard I've been tryin' to avoid a situation like this? Ah've been dropping hints ever since we figured out wha' tha' glove does. Preparing Perna for when Atlantis refuses to test the drug on Steve. Ah told her he's more cooperative than we expected. Tha' he's too valuable to risk offendin' or harmin'. Ah think ah finally got through to her, too. Last time ah mentioned it, she said it wasn' a problem…"

As Carson trailed into silence, Dr. Weir sat down in the chair beside him and lightly touched his knee. "And do you know why her attitude suddenly changed?"

Carson looked at her with disappointment. "It wasn' my hints, was it?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "But you did convince her that Atlantis had no intention of giving Hoff our prisoner. She told her superiors that."

"An' how do ye know this?" Dr. Beckett sighed.

"Because the Hoffans' military commander contacted Major Sheppard and asked him for advice on how to capture wraith."

"Bloody 'ell."

"My thoughts exactly." Dr. Weir got up and paced in front of her desk. "It seems they have the Gate addresses of several wraith planets. Not having access to our prisoner, but knowing from us that catching wraith is possible, they wanted a few."

"But they don' 'ave the technology!" Dr. Beckett protested.

"No, they don't," Elizabeth agreed. "They'd have been slaughtered. Or rather, caught and fed upon. And, in all likelihood, they'd have led the wraith to Hoff. The wraith would've seen the Hoffans' technological advancement—"

"An' wiped them off the face o' the planet."

Dr. Weir nodded. "Along with your project. And because we're collaborating on site for the project, Atlantis would've been caught right in the middle."

Wiping a hand through his hair, Carson stared at his clipboard in dismay. "So Major Sheppard volunteered to procure a wraith for 'em. To avoid calamity." He shook his head disappointedly. "Ah see how this went now. Why ye said yes to it."

Pacing to a stop, Dr. Weir leaned back against her desk. "I'm glad you understand, Carson. Atlantis is far better equipped to handle a capture in a safe, and untraceable, manner than the Hoffans. And they were adamant about doing it. I was lucky to talk them down to one wraith. They wanted five."

"Ah still don' like it," Dr. Beckett said, shaking his head. "We're not ready to experiment on human or wraith subjects. An' even if we were, there's still the Geneva Convention. Ah know ah'm not on Earth, and circumstances in Pegasus are unusual, but ah don' know if ah'm willing to violate tha' yet—"

"What are we talking about violating?"

Carson turned in his chair, and Dr. Weir snapped her focus towards the office door. Major Sheppard was peeking around the doorframe. Elizabeth raised an expectant eyebrow, and the military commander mock-grimaced, taking in the inquiring look unrepentantly. "Sorry," he waved a finger about, "the door was, you know. Open."

"So I see. To what do we owe this," pausing, Elizabeth quirked a smile, "unexpected honor?"

He poked his head further in. "Well… I thought you two might like to know, the masked wraith finished giving Steve his answer."

"Wha'? Just now?" Dr. Beckett's eyes widened in surprise. "But ah finished observing 'em more 'an an hour ago!"

Sheppard shrugged. "Yeah, well. He had a lot to say." Coming fully into the room, the Major grabbed a chair by Carson, sat, and lounged back in it. "Actually, he finished thirty minutes ago. It took Steve a while to filter out the relevant stuff."

Dr. Weir pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and crossed her arms, eyeing Sheppard with interest. "I take it a lot was irrelevant?"

"Ohhhhh yeahhhh." Sheppard huffed an exaggerated sigh. "I'd say, more than 90% was completely useless." He fixed Carson with an earnest stare. "Never, I repeat, never, ever ever ever… Ask a masked wraith what he finds interesting."

"Was it tha' bad?" Carson asked, "Really?"

"Want some examples?" Sheppard grinned.

"If it's not too much trouble," Elizabeth prompted.

"Okay…" Sheppard clasped his hands behind his head. "A couple centuries ago, he fed on a human with two different colored eyes. Right one green, left one blue."

"You're right," Dr. Weir interjected, "That is useless."

"It gets better. A few centuries before that, he caught one with eleven fingers."

"How fascinating."

"And once he took part in a culling on a planet that had eight moons and two suns. Apparently the place smelled like sulfur and rotten milk."

"Like I said," Elizabeth frowned, "fascinating."

"Actually," Dr. Beckett interjected, "it IS fascinating."

"It is?" Straightening, Dr. Weir looked at Carson in surprise. "How so?"

Major Sheppard looked equally surprised. "Yeah, what she said."

"Well, for one," the doctor turned his equipment wish list over and began making notes on his clipboard, "How does Steve know wha' color the human's eyes were? Those masks are solid bone. No eyeholes. Do masked wraith sense color some other way? Or is Steve inferin' it somehow through the telepathic link?"

Dr. Weir cocked her head. "You mean translating one type of sensory information into visual, light-based information."

"As in a sense we don't know about," Sheppard added.

"Precisely," Carson said. "We already know wraith 'ave at least two senses we don'. Telepathy an' whatever those pits on their cheeks do." He looked at Elizabeth meaningfully, "Ah'm still working on tha', by the way. Steve 'as been consistently an' deliberately vague when ah ask 'bout 'em. Ah suspect multiple purposes."

Sheppard unclasped his hands long enough to raise a finger. "I second that."

"But returning to the question at hand." Carson set his pen down and scanned his hastily scribbled notes. "Why is this the sort o' thing masked wraith find interesting?" He glanced at Major Sheppard. "Ah assume the rest o' wha' you got is similar?"

The Major nodded. "Very."

Pushing herself off her desk, Dr. Weir crossed to the glass wall. "What about the 10% that wasn't completely useless?"

Sheppard clapped his hands on his knees and straightened. "I'm glad you asked about that." He stared at Elizabeth and Carson seriously. "It seems this wraith was once assigned to his hive's queen. As a sort of personal guard or servant."

"That sounds promising," Dr. Weir murmured.

"Aye," agreed Carson.

"Apparently," Sheppard continued, still serious, "she has a mole on her left shoulder blade. It looks exactly like a dart."

Dr. Weir and Dr. Beckett looked at him.

"Sooo…" Sheppard scratched his ear, "if we ever have cause to, you know, strip a wraith queen, we'll be able to tell if it's her or not."

As Carson made another note on his clipboard, Dr. Weir frowned. "I thought you said this 10% wasn't completely useless," she accused.

"It isn't," Major Sheppard quickly defended, "It's just mostly useless."

"Can ye give another example?" Dr. Beckett interrupted.

"Sure," Sheppard shrugged. "Somewhere there's a Stargate. When you walk through, you can see two tall mountains dominating the horizon. Between them is a tower that looks exactly like the central tower of Atlantis."

Elizabeth smiled and looked out at the Gate room. "Another Ancient city ship," she breathed. "Did the masked wraith give us the address?"

Sheppard shook his head. "No. He didn't know it. Someone else dialed."

"So Steve says," Carson added. "'E could be lyin'."

"I highly doubt it," Sheppard sounded confident. "He wants access to the glove research. Badly. He's practically drooling for it. I don't think he'll risk jeopardizing the relationship he's trying to build with us."

"Are you sure?" Elizabeth pressed.

The Major nodded. "Yes, I am."

"So, the masked wraith did'nae know where 'e was," Carson wrote another note, "but 'e still found the ancient tower interestin'. This is fascinat—"

"Actually, he didn't find the tower interesting," interrupted Sheppard.

"But ye just said—"

"He found the snake-necked, two-headed bird flying in front of the tower interesting."

Dr. Beckett scratched out his last note, and Dr. Weir stared down, through the glass, at the Stargate. White-coated medical personnel hurried across the floor, slowly building a pile of portable lab equipment before the dormant portal. "So the masked wraith," Elizabeth said, watching, "showed our unmasked wraith the bird—"

"It's easier to call him Steve," Sheppard quipped.

"And Steve," she conceded, "noticed the tower in the background."

"Yup. That about sums it up."

Carson tapped his pen on his clipboard. "Is all o' the mostly useless stuff incidental information? Lackin' in context like this?"

Sheppard nodded. "Except for the mole, yeah."

Dr. Beckett gave a low whistle. "Ah don' envy Steve the task. It must 'ave been extremely tedious for 'im."

"I think it gave him a headache."

Turning away from the Gate room, Dr. Weir looked thoughtfully at Sheppard. "Were there other places of interest besides the tower? Places where—"

Static squawked. "Dr. Beckett?"

Carson tapped his radio. "Yes, Teyla?"

"We have finished gathering the supplies on your list. They are by the Stargate."

Flipping his paper back over, Dr. Beckett twisted in his chair and surveyed the Gate room. The pile of lab equipment had stopped growing, and the personnel he'd requested were assembling around it. "Thank ye, lass. Tha' was very helpful."

The Athosian's smile was audible. "You are welcome, Doctor. It was a good opportunity for me to familiarize myself with the infirmary. I have also gotten to know some of your colleagues better."

Carson stood for a better view. Teyla's slim form was clearly visible, standing a few meters from the Stargate. "So ye did'nae mind bein' commandeered too much?"

"Not at all. In fact, I was wondering if I could accompany you to Hoff? I am not busy, and I would like to assist with the equipment set up." Teyla paused. "I believe it would be a useful experience for me."

Catching Elizabeth's eye, Major Sheppard whispered conspiratorially, "She doesn't want to be recruited by Rodney's bead hunters again."

Dr. Weir mouthed an understanding, 'oh,' and glanced at Carson, who looked at her questioningly. "If you can truly use her, I'll authorize it."

Carson nodded, "Aye, ah can. She's dead useful. Follows instructions very well." He reactivated his radio. "Teyla, ye can come. Dr. Weir gave ye permission."

Down on the Gate room floor, Teyla cocked her head. "You are with her?"

"Aye. Ah'm in her office." Dr. Beckett waved as the Athosian turned and looked up. "We're just finishin' now. Ah'll be down in a jiffy. Tell everyone it's time to go."

"We will be waiting for you." Teyla inclined her head towards the office respectfully. "Please thank Dr. Weir for me."

"Tha' ah will. Beckett out." Clutching his clipboard, Carson relayed Teyla's thanks, which Elizabeth had heard, and moved to the door. "Ah guess ah'll be on my way. Wish me luck." He paused and turned seriously to Dr. Weir. "If ye'd keep wha' we discussed earlier in mind, Dr. Weir, ah would much appreciate it. Ah intend on handling this project in a safe, morally and ethically sound way."

"You have my word, Carson." Laying a hand on Dr. Becket's white, lab coat-covered shoulder, Elizabeth ushered him into the hall, while studying him intently. "I want you to know. Just because I authorized a second capture, that doesn't mean I'm committed to performing live trials anytime soon. Or ever, for that matter."

The Scotsman's brow furrowed. "Ah know ye say tha'—"

"I'm not just saying it. You are in control, Carson." Dr. Weir let her hand drop. "I won't even consider the question unless you ask me first. And then I'll expect reasonable assurances that proceeding in such a way is safe."

Carson sighed, torn. "It just feels so final. Catchin' another like tha'."

"I understand," Elizabeth held his conflicted gaze reassuringly. "Just remember, no matter how far it seems we've gone, until we actually stick a wraith and human in a cell together, we can always choose to turn back."

Dr. Beckett smiled uneasily. "Ah don' think it'll be coming to tha'. But if ye could let me know 'aforehand, maybe? Give me fair warning?"

Smiling earnestly, Elizabeth nodded. "Of course. It was never my intention to blindside you. I WILL keep you in the loop next time. That's a promise."

Carson tucked his clipboard under his arm, looking vastly relieved. "Thanks, Elizabeth. Ah appreciate ye takin' the time to listen. Ah've got a lot goin' on, an' wha' with the way it happened so unexpectedly. Well… Ah got a wee bit worried." He glanced at the Stargate. "Ah should be goin' now. If ah could 'ave yer permission?"

Elizabeth gestured towards the control center. "Be my guest." She radioed the 'go ahead' to Peter Grodin, and Dr. Beckett strode enthusiastically away, buoyed once again by the recent success of his project.

"He's having way too much fun with this."

Dr. Weir jumped, startled, then turned and glared at Major Sheppard. "I could say the same for you."

"Naah. I'm just poking my nose where it doesn't belong. He's actually accomplishing stuff."

"How much did you over hear?"

Shrugging nonchalantly, Sheppard watched as the Stargate activated. "Not much. Just the last bit about him being worried." He glanced at Elizabeth. "I do respect privacy, you know." He glanced around, "But hallways aren't very private."

Amused, Dr. Weir walked back to her office. "No, I suppose they aren't."

Major Sheppard followed. "So… What was it about?" He lounged back in his recently vacated chair.

"He was concerned because we didn't consult him before catching a second wraith. He was afraid we might push him to move too quickly on the Hoff project."

"And are we going to push him?" Sheppard asked.

"No." Elizabeth shook her head. "He has enough pressure coming from the Hoffans. I don't want to add to that." Wrapping an arm over her waist, she rested her chin on her knuckles and watched as the parade of personnel and equipment began disappearing into the wormhole. "He threatened to stop the project."

"He what?!" Sheppard looked askance. "Why?!"

"Because catching a sentient being for the sole purpose of experimenting on it is morally reprehensible." Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Even if it is a life sucking alien."

"I assume you told him the circumstances?"

"I did."

"And he still didn't like it?" Sheppard frowned.

"No, but he was willing to go along with it."

"Geez, and here I'd thought he'd be happy to have a new wraith."

Elizabeth looked at her military commander curiously. "How so?"

Shrugging, he threw up his hands. "It's a masked grunt! Big and dumb. Doesn't even talk. Given the choice between it and Steve, it's… It's…" He fell silent, searching for the right words. Suddenly he snapped his fingers. "It's like experimenting on a mouse or rat instead of an endangered, obviously intelligent primate."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't just hear that."

"Why?" Sheppard leaned forward. "It's true."

"It's not the same, John."

"Not exactly the same, no. But it might as well be."

"There's a huge difference here!" Elizabeth stared at her military commander in disbelief, bordering on horror. "Please tell me that you see it!"

"I do see it, Elizabeth! But it doesn't matter, now!"

Silence engulfed the office.

Sheppard returned Elizabeth's stare intently, willing her to understand. "The Hoffans are going to push for live trials, sooner rather than later. You know that. I know that. It's only a matter of time. When that time comes, what's the better choice? Betraying the trust of an intelligent being that we're trying to build a rapport with? Or using the idiot who'll never realize he was experimented on?"

"We don't know that about the masked wraith," Elizabeth snapped.

"Perhaps not," he conceded. "But Steve will realize something's up the instant we take the glove off. He'll refuse to cooperate. I can guarantee that."

Silence again. The Stargate shut down as Beckett and his new personnel finished carrying the equipment through to Hoff. Peter Grodin's voice came over the headsets, announcing the successful departure. When he was done, Sheppard broke the awkwardly returning quiet, speaking softly. "The masked wraith is a better experimental subject. All the way 'round, and everyway you look at it. You know what I'm saying's true."

Elizabeth closed her eyes, reluctantly admitting defeat. "With the glove in Atlantis's possession, I can't allow starvation to be used as a motivator."

"No, WE can't. The treatment of prisoners is my concern too."

"This is questionable on so many levels, John…"

"Which is why discussions like this are important." Sheppard got up and moved to stand beside her. "Are we in agreement?"

Elizabeth sighed. Opening her eyes, she nodded. "Yes. If I authorize live trials, it will be for the masked wraith only."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "You mean when."

"No. I mean IF." She looked at him expectantly. "I still haven't agreed to sign off on that. It'll depend on the Hoffans, and Carson, and the situation."

"Hopefully I'll have some input."

"I think I already know where you stand, Major."

Sheppard smiled and backed off. "Only 'cause of the masked wraith. If it were still Steve, I wouldn't. You know that."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do."

"You are forgetting one important thing, though."

Elizabeth looked at him curiously. "Really?"

"Yeah. The most important part. Carson, the Hoffans, the situation… They're all well and good, but when it comes down to it?" Shaking his head, Sheppard pointed at Dr. Weir with a serious and steady finger. "Your judgment is what'll decide this. That's the most important thing. Fair, honest, diplomatic, and morally sound judgment."

"You're wrong, John," Dr. Weir stared at his pointed finger, "I didn't forget. It's on my mind constantly. I'm well aware of the responsibility. And my judgment—"

"Is what got you appointed leader of this expedition." Sheppard's expression became serious. "And I'll support it whole heartedly. 'Cause I trust it."

"Thank you, John."

"After the decision's made, you won't hear a peep of protest."

Elizabeth smiled, touched. "I'd expect nothing less."

"AFTER it's made," Sheppard repeated.

"Of course."

"No peeps without good reason."

Not bothering to hide her amusement, Dr. Weir moved to her desk and sat. "Perhaps we should revisit the masked wraith's interests. Besides the Ancient tower, did Steve notice any other landmarks with potential?"

"Yeah, sure," Sheppard pulled his chair over to the desk. "Plenty. Couple dozen ancient structures. Bunch of wraith labs. Grounded hive ships. Few unidentifiables—"

"I'm thinking ZPMs here."

He nodded. "Some of the Ancient stuff definitely sounded like it had power."

Elizabeth rested her elbows on her desk. "That's good. Why don't we—"

"No Gate addresses, though. Not a single one."

She mock frowned. "It's never easy, is it?"

Major Sheppard grinned. "If it were easy, where would the fun be?"

"Somewhere else, obviously." Elizabeth frowned for real. "So we've got no Gate addresses…" Tapping her fingers thoughtfully for a moment, she flashed Sheppard a grin. "In that case, let's start with the unidentifiables. I feel like a mystery."

-------------------------------------------------

An hour or so, and a brief dinner break later, Major Sheppard abruptly dropped his fork into his half-eaten bowl of blue gelatin, (which was sitting on his tray on Dr. Weir's desk), and straightened. "I have another mystery," he declared.

Savoring her last bite of vanilla ice cream, Elizabeth raised a questioning eyebrow. "Oh?" She picked up her napkin and dabbed her lips.

"Why would Steve be upset by the presence of a second wraith on Atlantis?"

Balling the square of white fabric, Dr. Weir set it down. "I don't know. Why?"

"Like I said. It's a mystery." Sheppard retrieved his fork. The blue gelatin wiggled and jiggled as he poked it. "It's not from his hive, so he doesn't know it. It can't talk, so he's not in danger of losing his place as an information source. He seemed concerned about it going hungry, but expressed no interest in its welfare beyond that. And I definitely detected notes of disgust and resentment in his attitude."

"Maybe he's simply worried we'll take the glove away," Elizabeth offered.

Sheppard shrugged. "I suppose that's possible. He didn't seem too thrilled about the idea of sharing. But it's not like we wouldn't give it back. He knows that."

"Does he really?"

"Yup. Steve's smart. He knows EXACTLY how important his cooperation is to Atlantis." Twirling his fork, Sheppard launched a cube of gelatin into his mouth. "At least, I think he does." He tapped the fork's handle against his temple. "It's hard to tell what's going on up there sometimes. The whole, alien psychology thing…"

Elizabeth pushed her tray away, saying, "Well, John. Maybe that's the answer."

Sheppard frowned and swallowed. "Beg your pardon?"

"Maybe it's a wraith thing."

"A wraith thing?" Sheppard pursed his lips thoughtfully. It was possible…

"And if that's the case," Elizabeth continued, "the only way we'll ever know is by asking."

Shaking his head, Sheppard speared another cube. "Steve's not so hot on personal questions."

Elizabeth eyed his tray. "Have you actually asked him any?"

"Course! I ask him his name all the time." She raised an eyebrow, and Sheppard smirked playfully. He swallowed the jiggly bite whole. "Okay, seriously," his expression sobered, "I tried broaching the subject, and he clammed up. Turned the conversation a complete 180. Actually gave me straight answers."

"On a different subject, you mean."

Sheppard nodded.

Elizabeth sighed disappointedly and stole his last gelatin cube. "Then, sadly, I suppose it'll have to remain a mystery."

"Hey! You stole my Jello!" Sheppard accused.

"Yes, I did." Elizabeth popped it into her mouth and demurely dabbed her lips with her napkin after swallowing. "It wiggled at me."

"'Cause you poked it firs—"

"So court martial me."

"I can't! You're a civilian."

A pair of dark, green streaked hands thumped onto the desk by Sheppard's tray. "Now, children. Didn't your moms ever tell you not to play with food?"

Dr. Weir and Major Sheppard simultaneously turned to stare at the unexpected visitor with surprise. Looking inordinately pleased with himself, Lieutenant Aiden Ford grinned cheekily at them. "Snuck up on you, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did, Lieutenant," Elizabeth murmured.

"Sorry, Ma'am," Ford had the decency to look sheepish, "I couldn't resist. Your door was open."

"I've neglected to close it a lot today…" Her eyes trailed over Ford's face and across his uniform, taking in the young marine's appearance with blatant curiosity. "I should probably remedy that." Elizabeth's gaze settled on the green smears streaking Ford's hand. Glancing up, she quirked an eyebrow, "Are those grass stains, Lieutenant?"

"No, Ma'am," Ford was grinning again. "There's no grass on Atlantis."

"Then forgive me for not being so polite," Sheppard snapped, recovering from his surprise. "But what the Hell happened to you?"

"You don't like my new look?"

Sheppard and Weir both shook their heads. Aiden's uniform was dotted by so many green smears, it almost could've passed for camouflage gear. His palms and fingers were incredibly dark, practically dyed olive, and his cheeks and forehead looked like they'd been streaked with thick, jade grease paint. Even his hair was speckled with lumpy green stuff. Glancing at Elizabeth, Sheppard spoke for them both. "You look," he quipped, dropping his fork on his tray, "like you've been attacked by a mulch monster."

"It's algae," Ford smiled, pleased, "I've been squeezing it."

"I thought I left you watching Steve," Sheppard accused.

"You did," eyeing the desk, Lieutenant Ford grabbed the empty dinner trays and moved them to an empty chair. "But Rodney snagged me when I went off shift."

"He snagged you?" Elizabeth frowned. "You could've said no."

"And miss the chance to squeeze the last algae bloom?" Ford laughed and shook his head. "No way! Too much fun!"

"I think you need a new hobby," Sheppard muttered.

"You're just jealous." Reaching behind him, Lieutenant Ford produced a large, shallow platter and set it in the middle of the desk between Sheppard and Weir.

Elizabeth leaned forward and fingered the silvery metal. It smelled slightly fishy… "And what's this for, Lieutenant?"

"That would be for these." Looking, if possible, even more smug and self-satisfied than usual, Rodney McKay strode into the office. Clasped in his hands was a tan box, the size of a walkie talkie. Skipping to a stop by Weir's desk, he proudly upended it over the tray. A waterfall of sparkling, orange beads poured into the platter, rolling and bouncing across the silver rectangle like marbles. Caught in the glittering stream, two larger, grayish-blue objects dropped out with a shiny, metallic clunk.

"Ta da!" McKay slapped the now-empty box onto the desk beside the platter and gestured proudly to the tiny, clinking orbs. "One glove's worth of mysterious, non-glowy spheres of indeterminate purpose and origin. Am I good, or what?"

"Or what," Sheppard quipped. Ignoring the platter, he made an exaggeratedly-disgusted face and wrinkled his nose. "Or more exactly, what is that smell?"

Lieutenant Ford looked at Rodney pointedly. "Told you they'd notice."

"Of course I noticed," Sheppard grimaced, "It's overpowering."

Elizabeth Weir sniffed and frowned. The smell was, indeed, overpowering. A dense odor of salty, tide-pool-in-the-sun, fish rot was rapidly becoming the dominant odor in her normally airy office. And it wasn't coming from the platter, like she'd originally thought… She raised an eyebrow at Rodney. "Yes, what IS that smell?"

Dr. McKay smiled innocently. "What smell?"

"It's coming from you, isn't it?" Sheppard accused.

"I don't know what you're talking about," McKay laughed nervously.

"I'm talking about the stomach-turning stench of rancid mussels." Sheppard leaned towards Rodney and sniffed his shirt. "It IS coming from you!"

Rodney squeaked indignantly, "Did you just sniff my shirt?"

"Yes, he did," Ford chuckled.

Dropping the innocent act, McKay rounded on Sheppard in frustration. "Well, excuse me for being odiferous!" he snapped. "I've been up to my arm pits in sludge made from gooey fish guts, seaweed, and decaying shellfish for two days! What did you expect? That I'd come out smelling like freshly cut roses?"

Sheppard merely raised an eyebrow. "Haven't you ever heard of a shower?"

"As a matter of fact," Rodney protested, "I did shower."

Dr. Weir dipped a finger in the platter and swirled the beads around. "Did you?"

"Yes, I di—"

"Cause it doesn't smell like it," Sheppard added.

Dr. McKay huffed. "It's not my fault the unscented soap doesn't work well!"

"You should've used the scented, then."

"I can't!" Rodney complained, "I have very sensitive skin! It gives me a ra—" Noticing Major Sheppard and Dr. Weir exchange poorly concealed, but obviously amused, glances, the scientist snapped his mouth shut, adopted a long-suffering expression and gestured sharply at the tray. "Look. Are we going to discuss my amazingly successful archaeological endeavor, or not?"

Elizabeth straightened. "Yes, Rodney, we are." Selecting a bead, she picked it up and held it to the light. It glimmered dimly, like a sphere of highly polished amber. She looked down at the platter. "You said this is an entire glove's worth?"

"Yes," Rodney announced. "Twenty-three. The same number as on the prisoner's glove. Not a penny more, not a penny less."

The bead clinked as Dr. Weir dropped it back with the others. "I must confess, I wasn't expecting you to recover them all. Much less so quickly…"

"I know," Rodney smiled smugly, "the odds against it were astronomical."

Sheppard peered at the platter skeptically, "Were they all together, or something?"

"Not all of them, no."

"But a lot were," Lieutenant Ford grinned. "Apparently the octi-crab thought they looked tasty. Dr. Zelenka and Dr. Sheckle pulled a huge pile out of its nest." He made a face. "They were buried in crab poo. But don't worry. I rinsed them thoroughly."

"Unlike yourself," Sheppard muttered.

Suddenly frowning, Aiden pat his vest pocket. "I almost forgot!" Tugging the Velcro flap open, he pulled a bead out. "I found the last one. It was in an algae bloom." He reached out, intending to drop it in the tray, with the others.

Rodney's eyes widened in horror. "No, wait!"

The bead bounced and clinked against its compatriots.

"Awwww…. You just had to do that, didn't you?"

"What?" Aiden looked confused.

Elizabeth glanced at her chief scientist, concerned, "What's the matter, Rodney?"

"That one," Rodney pointed, "hadn't been rinsed yet." He glared at Ford. "Congratulations, Algae Master. Now they ALL need to be washed again."

Aiden sighed and rolled his eyes, "Cause it takes so long to dump a bunch of beads in a sieve and lower them into a bucket."

"It's a waste of distilled water!"

"Focus, children." Elizabeth quirked an eyebrow. "A little algae never hurt anyone. Lieutenant Ford here's a prime example." She stared meaningfully at the Lieutenant. "You WILL rinse them after we're done, I trust?"

"Yes, Ma'am. It'll be my pleasure."

Rodney grumbled but seemed appeased.

"Okay. Back to business." Pushing beads aside, Dr. Weir daintily grasped the larger of the two shiny, bluish-grey objects and pulled it out of the tray. "So," she said, holding it up to examine it, "What's this delightful item? It's a bit sharp…"

"Careful with that," warned Rodney. "It's tricky."

Light glinted evilly off the razor-edged hook tipping the jointed metal. As Elizabeth turned it over, it hinged in two places and collapsed. Before it could flop completely down and impale her palm, she twisted her wrist, letting it dangle below her hand. Dr. Weir smiled curiously. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Depends on what you think it is," Sheppard muttered. He reached out and grabbed the smaller one. "These do look disturbing familiar…"

"What you are looking at now," Rodney began, straightening his shirt and adopting his favorite lecturing tone, "is a pair of perfectly preserved, wr—"

"They're can openers!" Lieutenant Ford interrupted.

"Can openers?" Elizabeth frowned. "I'm afraid I don't see the resemblance." The Lieutenant looked crest-fallen. "Bottle-openers maybe—"

"Can opener," murmured Sheppard, glancing at Ford approvingly. "I like that."

Aiden immediately brightened. "I knew you'd agree with me, Sir."

"Oh, for the love of—" spluttering, Dr. McKay turned to Elizabeth. "They're wraith finger guards. Used to belong to our stasis pod corpse."

She looked at the dangling blade in surprise. "So this is 10,000 years old."

"And still razor sharp," Rodney added, "Even after a century of saltwater exposure."

"Impressive," Sheppard said. He flipped his over. "But why's mine so short?" The one he held was only two-thirds the length of Dr. Weir's. It had one hinge, not two, and instead of being bladed at one end, it had a crescent-shaped scalpel on its back.

Dr. McKay shrugged, "How should I know?"

Sheppard started to poke it.

"Don't do that," McKay snapped, "It's ridiculously sharp."

Sheppard frowned. "Doesn't seem very practical," he complained, withdrawing his finger. "I'd be slashing my clothes all the time with this."

"Yeah, well… Who knows what wraith think."

"Steve does," Sheppard quipped.

Rodney snorted. "Like he'd actually tell us if we asked."

"Let me see that," Dr. Weir interrupted.

Major Sheppard passed the partial finger guard to her, saying, "You never know, Rodney. He's really keen to swap notes with you. If you asked nicely—"

"No!" Atlantis's head scientist looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I'm not working with the giant, life-sucking bug."

"Why not? He's in a cage. Talking to him won't—"

"I'm not interested in discussing that now."

"But—"

"I just said, I'm not talking to him," Rodney glared at Sheppard, "Ever!"

"Actually, Rodney," Elizabeth murmured, "I might want to have him take a look at these… He's making an effort to cooperate, and… Well…" Laying the two finger guards by the platter, she turned them 180 degrees, lined them up, and pushed them across the desk. Tapping the long finger guard, she eyed Major Sheppard and Dr. McKay meaningfully. "Take a look…"

Sheppard and McKay looked in silence for a few moments. Then…

"Oh, I see," Sheppard said. "Interesting."

"What? What do you see?" Rodney snapped, "I don't see anything."

"There," the Major pointed, "at the base of that claw thingy."

McKay lifted the guards carefully and looked closer.

Coming around, Lieutenant Ford peered over his shoulder. "Looks like a demented pineapple," he commented, "Weird."

"Demented pineapple?" Rodney huffed, exasperated. "Where? What part of this nightmarish excuse for cutlery looks like a pineapple?"

Lieutenant Ford pointed at the longer finger guard, just above its top joint.

Rodney followed his finger. "Well, I'll be…" The hook's dorsal ridge was dully serrated, like a cog, and a few millimeters below where the ridge smoothed into the shiny surface, a line was etched in the metal. The line zigzagged angularly across the guard, turning slowly, then continued it's erratic path onto the shorter one. After scrawling a crazy half circle around the hilt of the crescent blade, it returned to the longer guard, spiked once, and curved to a stop. "It almost makes a full circle…"

Ford pointed at the longer guard's middle section. "And look there. A smaller version of the pattern."

"Huh. So it is," Rodney squinted disdainfully at the dime-sized symbol. "Doesn't look much like a pineapple, though…"

"Not a whole pineapple," Aiden hastily amended. "Just the top part. You know. The leaves. Spiky circle, spiky leaves. See?"

"Looks more like a star caught in a whirlpool, if you ask me," Sheppard interjected. Ford and McKay stared. "You know," he wiggled his fingers in a circle, "arms swirling in the current as it's sucked down to the bottom of the ocean."

Rodney frowned thoughtfully a moment. Then… "It's a bit dark."

"Yeah," Ford agreed, "Dark."

"Aw, you guys are no fun."

Dr. Weir pursed her lips. "I think I prefer the pineapple too, John. Sorry."

"Oh well," Sheppard shrugged and conceded. "So…" he glanced at Elizabeth, "I take it you want to ask Steve what this pineapple shape means?"

Dr. Weir nodded.

"Woah, woah, woah." Dr. McKay laughed skeptically. "What makes you think it actually means anything? It could be a decoration."

"True," Elizabeth admitted. Taking the subjects of discussion from McKay's fidgeting hands, she set them carefully on the tray. "However, when Dr. Beckett examined the forearm Major Sheppard brought back from our first wraith encounter, he showed me the dissection in detail. There were no symbols on the finger guard he removed. And," she continued, seeing Rodney open his mouth to protest, "none of the other finger guards that I've seen pictures of have symbols either."

Major Sheppard frowned thoughtfully. "Now that you mention it. Steve's don't have anything like that. They're just swirly and bumpy…"

"Sheppard's right, Ma'am," Ford added. "Swirly and bumpy. Almost braided."

"We don't exactly have a large sample size to work with," McKay pointed out.

"No, we don't," Elizabeth agreed, "And that's exactly why understanding the significance, or lack there of, of this symbol is so important." Her brown eyes speared Dr. McKay's reluctant ones seriously. "And lets not forget the circumstances of these particular finger guards' discovery. If it does mean something—"

"It's probably important, out-of-the-ordinary, and groundbreakingly enlightening," Rodney finished. He sighed unhappily. "Fine. Ask Steve about the symbol. Just do me a favor and leave me out of it."

Dr. Weir cocked her head, puzzled. "Why are you so averse to talking to the prisoner all of a sudden? I thought you were miffed that he was ignoring you?"

"Yeah. I thought you were gonna stalk him," Sheppard interjected.

"He did stalk him," Lieutenant Ford said.

"You did?"

"I did," McKay snapped. "On my off shift."

"Why wasn't I informed of this?" Dr. Weir asked.

"Because it wasn't necessary," Rodney huffed.

"If you don't mind, I would prefer to be the judge of that."

"No, really, Ma'am," Ford snickered. "It wasn't necessary. Barely lasted two minutes."

"Now you've peaked my curiosity," Elizabeth stared at McKay expectantly.

"I wanna hear too," Sheppard said. When the scientist didn't say anything, he raised an eyebrow, warningly. "Remember, Rodney. If you don't spill, I can always pull the security tapes. We've got round-the-clock surveillance down there."

"It's really not that big a deal," Rodney protested.

"He's right, Sir." Ford winked at Sheppard over McKay's shoulder.

Major Sheppard took the hint with a mischievous grin. "Report, soldier!"

Lieutenant Ford saluted. "Yes, Sir! Three days ago while I was on my shift, guarding the wraith prisoner, Dr. McKay visited the holding cell. When I asked if the visit was authorized, he claimed to have your permission."

"You did not!" Sheppard stared at McKay accusingly.

"What?! You said I should stalk him? How is that not giving me permission?"

"I expected you to warn me first."

"You should've said that, then, shouldn't you?"

"What happened next, Lieutenant?" Dr. Weir asked.

"Dr. McKay circled the cell, Ma'am," Lieutenant Ford continued, "He stalked the prisoner, just like Major Sheppard suggested."

"And how did the prisoner respond?"

"Steve stalked him back, Ma'am." Ford stopped.

"And?" Sheppard pressed. "What'd they talk about?"

"Steve proceeded to thank Dr. McKay for providing the restraint, Sir. Once he'd finished expressing his gratitude, Dr. McKay left in a huff, declaring that he was never speaking to the prisoner again." Lieutenant Ford grinned and fell silent.

Elizabeth frowned and eyed McKay curiously. "That's it?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Sheppard fixed McKay with a perplexed stare. "He thanks you for giving him the glove and you walk? We're trying to establish a rapport here!"

Rodney pointed at Lieutenant Ford accusingly. "He didn't tell the whole story!"

"He's lying, Sir."

"I am not!" Rodney's irate finger swung towards the floor, as if he could skewer the wraith through the tower. "That was not a thank you!"

Sheppard looked at Ford.

"Oops," the Lieutenant scratched his head, "I did forget one thing, Sir."

"See? I told you—"

"It was also an apology for snapping at him."

"I don't believe this," Rodney huffed. Ignoring Sheppard, who was openly chuckling, he turned to Dr. Weir. "I've never been so offended by an expression of gratitude in my life! Every other word was an insult." McKay began ticking points off on his fingers. "He insulted my intelligence. My clothing. My hair. My body odor. I didn't smell like fish then," he hastily added. "My data pad. My fashion sense. My intelligence. My expertise. My competence. My—" He threw his hands up. "Pull the tapes and listen! I guarantee you'll agree, my reaction was perfectly justified. I barely spoke to that wraith a minute! Steve did nothing but insult me."

"'Cause that's all he CAN do, Rodney," Sheppard laughed. "He's locked in a cell. Verbal jabs are the only weapons he has left."

"It sounds to me," Elizabeth added, "Like he was trying to dominate you."

"Yeah, well he succeeded," McKay snapped.

"I can see tha—"

The radios squawked. "Unscheduled off-word activation," Peter Grodin announced. "Dr. Beckett's IDC… Receiving audio transmission."

Straightening, Dr. Weir tapped her radio. "Patch it through to my office."

"Understood. Patching now…" Grodin's voice was silent a moment. Then… "Patch complete. The channel is open, Ma'am."

"Thank you, Peter." Dr. Weir turned to the speaker sitting on the corner of her desk. "Carson, this is Dr. Weir. Is there a problem?"

"Aye, ye could say tha'!" The Scotsman's voice was high and fast. He sounded flustered. "Ah just spoke with the Chancellor. Perna briefed him 'ours ago. Ah was intending to present my next schedule but, it's not acceptable to 'em. Ah'm not a diplomat. Ah'm not sure how to handle this. It's too quick. Ah'm not ready. Ah—"

"Slow down, Carson," Elizabeth ordered. "Take a deep breath." She waited a few seconds, taking one of her own. "Okay. Now, tell me what's happened."

"It's the Hoffans, Elizabeth. They've authorized live human trials. Perna's screening terminally ill patients for volunteers as we speak."

Silence, suffocating, heavy and thick, filled the office, killing the humorous mood instantly. Major Sheppard's and Dr. Weir's eyes met, locking seriously.

Rodney jerked his thumb towards the door, "I'll just go take another shower now." He stood there awkwardly for a moment, then spun on his heel and strode out.

Glancing at his unresponsive superiors, Ford snagged the empty dinner trays off the chair and followed, "I'll take these back to the mess hall."

The silence returned. Thickened…

"Are ye there, Elizabeth?"

Dr. Weir's gaze slid slowly to the speaker once more. "Yes, I am, Carson. We need to talk. Come through the Gate and meet me in my office."

-------------------------------------------------

**Two hours later**

"Where is Major Sheppard?"

"You don't need to know that." Emerging from the shadows, like she'd seen Sheppard do on the security tapes, Elizabeth stepped slowly towards the holding cell. The wraith within studied her approach curiously. "My name is Dr. Weir," she announced. "You'll deal with me tonight."

Steve cocked his head. "He is not on Atlantis."

"Like I said," Dr. Weir stopped a few feet from the cage and listened with satisfaction as Sergeant Bates positioned himself two paces behind her. "His whereabouts aren't your concern."

A soft hiss filled the holding cell, and the wraith's green eyes flickered suspiciously over Atlantis's security chief. "The other of my kind that you caught…" The oval pupils refocused on Dr. Weir. "He is no longer on Atlantis."

Clasping her hands behind her back, Elizabeth straightened her spine and raised an eyebrow. "No," she firmly stated, "He is not."

"He is with Major Sheppard," Steve's eyes narrowed, "What are you—"

"Like I said," Elizabeth interrupted, "That's not your concern."

The wraith's pale lips twitched, emitting a low, frustrated hiss. He stepped closer to the bars. "I have heard your name spoken by my guards."

Dr. Weir watched impassively as Steve scented the air, still moving. When he reached the cell's edge, he lunged forward, pressing his forehead against the horizontal barrier. Elizabeth held her ground as he took a long, deep breath. White hair whispered across glittering black shoulders as Steve cocked his head the other way and exhaled, gaze flicking briefly to Sergeant Bates. "You are Major Sheppard's queen."

"My people don't have queens," Elizabeth said.

Steve's mouth curled in a toothy, half-grin. "His superior, then."

Dr. Weir met the challenging stare meaningfully. "I am Atlantis's superior."

Grin vanishing, the wraith stilled. The green eyes searched Elizabeth's face. Analyzing… Evaluating… Snorting softly, he leaned away from the bars. His coat flapped quietly as he withdrew a step. "Atlantis's superior…" Eyelashes lowering, the wraith hissed and turned a bit, so he was no longer facing her directly.

Dr. Weir smiled enigmatically. "Yes. Ultimately, the decision whether to allow you access to the flooded lab and Dr. McKay's notes rests with me."

Steve exhaled a sharp chuff of air and glanced down, studying the cell floor intently. "I understand." He looked up and nodded once, an abbreviated swooping motion that sent his ivory hair swinging. "I am prepared to cooperate."

Elizabeth allowed a note of approval to enter her voice. "Good."

The wraith hissed softly, passively protesting her implied authority.

Hiding her amusement, Dr. Weir angled her body away from the prisoner and moved a few feet along the cell's edge. "Come," she suggested.

Steve's green eyes darted to Sergeant Bates and the six marines flanking the alcove door. One of his black, highly polished boots lifted slightly, nudging aside heavy coat panels as he moved to follow her…

A marine coughed.

The prisoner froze. He looked at the man quizzically. After a moment, he resumed his former position, lichen brow furrowing uncertainly.

Realizing the wraith was unsure of the polite way to deal with her, Dr. Weir caught his eye and inclined her head towards the cage's next corner.

"Walk with me." She gestured invitingly.

Steve paced forward, hesitated, then approached the bars and fell into step beside her, hissing dismissively at Sergeant Bates and the watchful marines. Avoiding Weir's eyes, he swept along slightly behind her, skillfully matching her speed.

Elizabeth walked her first circuits around the cage in silence, deliberately allowing the wraith to accustom himself to her presence and movements. For several minutes, footsteps and quiet breathing were the only sounds in the holding cell. After a while, she began to feel the prisoner's eyes on her. Elizabeth hooked a lock of wavy hair behind one ear and watched him surreptitiously. Steve was studying her with brief, but lengthening, glances, gradually turning his face to observe her more openly. Eventually he lifted his gloved feeding hand and mirrored her earlier movement, pushing his own hair back. Dr. Weir smiled internally, pleased by the wraith's obvious attempt to remind her of his presence. He was relaxing, yet at the same time growing impatient with curiosity… Which was exactly what she'd intended the walk to accomplish.

At the start of a new circuit, Dr. Weir finally met Steve's gaze. "As you may have guessed," she began, "I am visiting you for a specific reason."

The wraith nodded, carefully maintaining eye contact. His multi-tonal voice hissed softly, almost purring. "You have something to discuss with me, I assume…"

"That is correct," Elizabeth confirmed.

"Something to do with my race?" he pressed, "Or with this glove, perhaps?" Amber beads glimmered as Steve trailed his feeding hand along one of the bars.

Smiling slightly, Dr. Weir raised an eyebrow. "Both, actually." When Steve cocked his head curiously, she laid a hand on the bar, across from the glove, and in a single, graceful movement, slowed to a stop while turning to face him.

The wraith mirrored the action perfectly.

"I have something to show you," Dr. Weir clarified.

Green eyes blinked expectantly.

"Once you have seen it," she continued, "I will ask you questions." Elizabeth stared at Steve pointedly. "You will do your best to answer them."

Steve's lips pulled back in a translucent smile. "Of course…" he hissed.

At a gesture from Dr. Weir, one of the marines that'd escorted her to the cell marched over and offered her the tan box McKay had left in her office. The wraith watched intently as she removed the two finger guards from it. (The twenty-three beads were still sitting in the platter on her desk.) As the soldier resumed his post, Dr. Weir placed the guards on a horizontal bar, roughly at the wraith's chest level. Her side of the shelf-like bar wasn't wide enough to accommodate them lengthwise, so she laid them parallel to the force field. Carefully she nudged them towards the energy barrier.

"Where did you get these?" Steve's pale face bobbed as he craned his neck, attempting to find the best vantage point for viewing the artifacts.

Elizabeth clasped her hands behind her. "They were found in the flooded laboratory, near the corpse of the wraith who collaborated with the Ancients."

Steve expelled a soft chuff of air and cocked his head, pushing himself partially into the space between the bars. The orifices on his cheeks widened minutely. After a second, he snorted and pulled back, eyeing her in surprise. "They are not corroded."

"No," Dr. Weir agreed. "They are remarkably well preserved."

He leaned forward, oval pupils sliding to the finger guards once more.

Elizabeth observed the wraith's visual examination of the artifacts without speaking for several moments. Then… "What are they, exactly?"

"Tools," Steve hissed. His ungloved hand slipped onto the bar and slid towards the force field, providing Dr. Weir with an unobstructed view of the metal guards covering the backs of his pointer and index fingers.

"I see," Elizabeth murmured. She bent down for a closer looker. The razor-edged claws tipping the wraith's fingers gleamed cruelly in the cell's harsh light. "Tools for getting at your dinner?" she finally asked.

Steve snorted derisively. "A primitive use for sophisticated instruments such as these, but adequate for such purposes, yes."

Dr. Weir raised an eyebrow. "What ARE they designed for, then?"

"Manipulating organic technology," he hissed.

"Elaborate."

The wraith's fingers scratched absently along the bar as he scrutinized the obviously fascinating objects. "Cutting open panels. Effecting repairs. Guiding and fusing energy lines and nutrient vessels… Purposes are numerous."

"And the purposes of these, specifically?" Dr. Weir pressed.

Green eyes flicked briefly to her face, then refastened on the artifacts. "Unknown. Only the highest quality tools can survive an extended immersion in saltwater. Such items tend to have unique and hidden purposes. They are generally designed, constructed, and employed by a single, specific individual."

Satisfied with the detailed response, Dr. Weir nodded. "Can they be found out?"

Steve's lips twitched, and his mouth opened. Chuffing softly, he seemed to hesitate. Finally he glanced at her. "Not without touching them." His oval pupils refocused on the finger guards, as if drawn to magnets. "Self-preservation abilities indicate the presence of complex, symbiotic organic circuitry. Such circuitry can only be activated and controlled by DNA sensitive, touch-based, telepathic interfaces."

"Interesting…" Dr. Weir murmured.

"Very." The wraith peered intently at the tantalizingly out of reach artifacts. "Compared to these tools, my own are clumsy butchers' knives…"

"Are they really?" Elizabeth stared at the 'can-openers' skeptically.

"Yes…" With a sudden hiss, Steve was at Dr. Weir's eye level. Light flared as his ivory hair whirled trails of bluish-white energy across the force field. "Do you wish me to touch them? I would be more than happy to oblige."

Startled, but refusing to show it, Dr. Weir considered the openly hopeful wraith with a frown. "Perhaps another day." He seemed a little too eager…

Steve's face fell in obvious disappointment, "Then I can tell you nothing more…"

"That's not necessarily true." Dr. Weir pulled the shorter tool away from the force field, where it'd been lying end-to-end with the longer one. "I have one more question," she added, sliding it a few inches, so it lay alongside its companion. She slowly lined them up. "What does this symbol mean?"

The glittering shoulders dipped obligingly as Steve pushed his way into the opening between the bars and peered at the mysterious pineapple. He reeled back almost immediately, punctuating the hasty retreat with an explosive, multi-toned huff.

Elizabeth hid a smile. "You recognize it."

Steve stared at her, wide-eyed with shock. "Yes."

"Then explain it, please."

The wraith blinked. "As you may have noticed, many of my kind wear identifying markings. Facial tattoos and such."

"Actually I haven't," Dr. Weir said. "My people's experience with your kind has been relatively limited." They'd only been in Pegasus a few months…

Snorting, Steve nodded and elaborated. "Such markings indicate an individual's association with a particular hive. More complex designs may convey specific relationships within it, such as the wearer's rank and position."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And this is one of those tattoos?"

"Yes. It is the mark of an ancient, very powerful hive. It once carried great influence in this galaxy." The wraith's eyes strayed to the tools.

Dr. Weir noted his use of the past tense with interest. "But it doesn't anymore?"

"No," with a soft hiss, Steve refocused on her. Ivory hair brushed across glittering black as he cocked his head. "It lost its queen during the Great War. The survivors scattered, joining other hives throughout the alliance." Steve curled his lips, flashing Dr. Weir a pleased, sharply-toothed grin. "They were instrumental in constructing the siege conditions that led to the Ancients' withdrawal."

"Were they?…" Elizabeth murmured frostily.

"Yes…" The wraith's green eyes narrowed. "Sadly, very few of that hive's member's remain alive, but the ones that do wield great influence."

Mulling the implications over, Dr. Weir looked pointedly at the tools. "So, the wraith that wore these was one of those survivors…"

Steve followed her gaze. His smug grin faded. "The presence of these tools, in this state," he added quietly, "indicates a great loss for my kind."

"You have my condolences," Dr. Weir replied, amused. The prisoner acknowledged her insincere comment with a derisive snort. Elizabeth sobered. "The individual these belonged to," she pressed. "Can you tell me about him, specifically?"

The wraith gave a quick, negative hiss. "I was not alive during the Great War. I know the hive's symbol, and the survivors' fates, by reputation only."

Dr. Weir scrutinized Steve intently. "You've never met any of them?"

A short, disinterested, "No." Oval pupils locked on the glistening tools, Steve pushed his face into the gap once more, "But I will consider the question."

"You'll consider it?…" Elizabeth frowned.

"Yes… My kind live a long time, Dr. Weir. Memories are fleeting, innumerable things." The black-gloved fingers stroked the bar, close to the force field. "Details like the ones you seek, having no immediate, personal relevance, may take time to recover."

"I see…" Dr. Weir placed her hands on either side of the artifacts. "If you remember something, tell the guards. They will inform me."

"As you wish…" The wraith hissed. The leather coat rustled as he shifted position, withdrawing and reinserting his face, trying to get a better vantage point. "Perhaps then," he murmured suggestively, "you'll wish me to access them?"

Dr. Weir eyed Atlantis's captive suspiciously. He was fixated totally on the artifacts. His pupils darted over them repeatedly, shadow-dilated and unblinking. And if it weren't for his responses to her last few questions, she'd have thought him unaware of her presence entirely… "Perhaps," Elizabeth finally answered. Her deliberately noncommittal tone elicited a convulsive clenching of the horizontal bar. The beads ringing Steve's wrist flickered, and he expelled a breathy, frustrated huff.

Unexpectedly, Dr. Weir felt a pang of remorse. That the wraith wanted extremely badly to touch the finger guards was painfully obvious…

Wondering at her sanity, Elizabeth made a split-second decision. "I will, however, leave them here." She could practically feel Sergeant Bates frowning at her. "Seeing them might help jog your memory."

Leaving the artifacts where they lay, gleaming metallically on the horizontal bar, Dr. Weir left the cage and headed for the alcove, signaling for her escort.

"Dr. Weir!" An insistent hiss filled the holding cell.

Elizabeth stopped in the doorway, escort clattering to a halt. She frowned disapprovingly. "What?"

"May I have these?" Steve barked.

Amazed by the wraith's audacity, Dr. Weir spun to face the cell. Steve had followed her as much as possible and was weaving back and forth behind the nearest bars, black coat panels flapping and fingers flitting across the barrier. The flurry of motion was clearly designed to attract her attention.

"Excuse me?" Elizabeth snapped.

The intense green stare, so recently devoted to the pineapple-etched 'can openers,' fixed on her as the wraith froze, suddenly becoming eerily still. His ivory hair swayed silently. "May I have these?"

Dr. Weir stared in disbelief. "You are in a cell," she stated.

"You don't need them," Steve smiled at her cajolingly.

Elizabeth laughed, incredulous. "You are in a cell."

"You can't use them," he wheedled.

Shaking her head in wonder, Dr. Weir turned to leave again.

Steve's hiss filled the room once more. The persistent sound was tinged with a hint of desperation. "They may have been used in this glove's creation!"

Pausing, Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. She pointedly didn't look back. "In that case," she icily announced, "consider their use added to your list of other outrageous requests." Not waiting for a response, she strode into the alcove and left.

The wraith's parting chuff echoed in the stairwell, drifting up the steps in the Atlantis leader's wake.

"That is acceptable…"

-------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading! Please review! Again, things I'm working on specifically are: 1. Maintaining a Season 1 feel in the flashback chapters. 2. Keeping the regulars in character.

Special thanks go to SGA-Seven, MandarinBlues, and Spacefan, for their input and encouragement.


	8. Chapter 7: Hiiissssssss

Here we are. Back in the present. (Finally.) This installment's a bit experimental. I hope it doesn't confuse too terribly. Feedback here would be especially useful.

Happy reading!

ps. Try breathing when the wraith breathes.

(You can breathe other times too. Don't pass out.)

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.

**Chapter Seven: Hiiissssssss.**

(translation: So be it…)

_**Present**_

Silence.

No footsteps. No knock of coat panels. No angry hissing or ivory rain patter.

No motion. Save the silent rise and fall of a black-clad chest…

Breathe in… Rise…

Breathe out… Fall…

…Rise…

…Fall…

…

…Rise…

…Fall…

…

The universe was shifting…

…Rise…

…

…Fall…

…

The wraith lay on his sleeping pallet, graceful, black-dressed limbs sprawled. One knee protruded from his coat, crooked with limp negligence. His feeding hand dangled, translucent claws almost touching the nearby, glittering shoulder. No effort expended, so far, to shift wrist or elbow to less awkward angles… Long, white strands fanned around the wraith's head, spilled across the organic mattress, tangled in his stiff, black collar. An ivory echo of the befuddled motion that'd brought him there.

A befuddled motion caused because…

…

The universe had shifted…

…

…Rise…

…Fall…

…

The wraith's personal quarters lay still and quiet, like their owner, insulated by the hive's thick, orange-veined organic walls. Beyond them life continued. Work continued. Thought continued. Wraith continued. The universe continued…

…Without shifting…

His brothers were oblivious. Lesser. Higher…

His queen was oblivious. Now. Forever…

…She'd never noticed…

…Rise…

…Fall…

…

That his universe had shifted…

…

…Rise…

…

…Fall…

…

…She'd never noticed…

…Rise…

…Fall…

…

That it never quite shifted back…

…

…Rise…

…

…Fall…

…

…And she'd never notice…

…Rise…

…Fall…

…

…That it was happening again…

…

…

…Rise…

…Fall…

…

…Not if he could help it…

…

…

The wraith lay where he'd thrown himself. Green eyes slitted, unblinking. Oval pupils stared, unseeing, at orange veins crawling across the iridescent, chitin ceiling. The telepathic network of the hive stretched out, dancing within his mind like a three dimensional, interactive graphics display. Movements. Action. Reaction… All visible with ease… And deeper… Emotion. Conversation. Intention… The essence of being wraith… Then, yet deeper… Private. Confidential…

The wraith turned away from these things. Things He Should Not See…

He turned instead to the Minds Turned Inward… Felt the warmth of Meditation. The peace of Content. The flickering luminosity of Diversion…

…The bright pleasure of Feed…

…The fire of Hunger…

A soft hiss disturbed the silence, elicited by a flare of physical empathy. He thrust the Hungering Ones aside and continued, carefully avoiding those brothers occupied with similar distasteful emotions…

The ripple of Amusement. A twinkle of Surprise. The delightful pulse of brothers bound together in Curiosity…

And beyond… The dark glow of Sleep…

…The iridescent chill of Dream…

Shivering, the wraith retreated, troubled by the bone-numbing chill he shouldn't have been able to see. Much less touch… Or feel…

His universe was shifting…

…Rise…

…Fall…

…

He withdrew to the upper layers. Watching. Listening. Focusing on everything and nothing… The minds of his brothers glowed, connected by an intricate web of ever-changing thought and attention. Separate, yet together. Thousands creating a single, complex entity. A network of intelligence, infinitely delicate, yet a hundred times stronger than any wraith could hope to be alone…

…alone…

…

The wraith watched, viewing the ephemeral fabric of life with a clarity he'd never experienced. A clarity that was growing with every breath… A clarity illuminated by the blazing light of a single mind… The burning light of a Queen… His Queen…

The wraith's Queen…

…

…Rise…

…Fall…

…

The web of his brothers pulsed in his mind, illuminated by it's blazing, female light. It's beautiful light. It's searing light. A compelling, instinctively magnetic light.

A deadly light…

A light that must never know he touched Dream. Or saw Sleep.

A light that looked on him and saw…

…only Rest.

…

That saw…

…

…impossibly…

…

…Only what the wraith wanted it to see…

…

A light that had seen only what he'd wanted it to see for a long time…

…

…Rise…

…Fall…

…

…Clarity…

…Light…

…

…Separate…

…

His universe was shifting…

…Shifting…

…

SHIFTING!

With a gasp, he withdrew from the telepathic network, heart racing and body trembling. Reality shuddered. The wraith shuddered with it. Mentally. Physically. The green eyes flew open, then quickly squeezed shut as the room failed to materialize completely. Sanity fluttered. Panic threatened. FEAR!!

BREATHE!!!

Chest heaving, the wraith forced himself to relax. He thrust the fear down, violently walling it away, detaching himself from it. It fluttered as he constructed a mental compartment and trapped it within. His feeding hand twitched, lurching from its awkward suspension to brush the black leather covering his stomach. Fingers dropped, resting limply as he willed the frenzied hitching to fade from his diaphragm.

…Rise…

…Fall…

The wraith stilled, forcing the tremors in his breath to smooth…

…Rise…

…Fall…

…In…

…Out…

…

…In…

…Out…

…

…Rise…

…Fall…

…

Fear surged. Raged. Writhed… The wraith remained relaxed… Separate… The paralyzing emotion safely trapped… Isolated from rational thought… Like unwanted, unhelpful emotions should be…

…

…Rise…

…Fall…

…

Fear fluttered, and the wraith observed… The feeling was… Unsettling. Unfamiliar… His attention swept to another mental cage. The first he'd created… Within, panic swelled. Flailed. The urge to escape ebbed and surged. Flaring unpredictably… A disconcerted hiss filled the room. Fear was almost as alien to the wraith as these other intrusive, overwhelming feelings…

…

…Rise…

…Fall…

…

…Rise…

…

…Fall…

…

…Rise…

SHIFTING!

Reality shuddered.

BREATHE!!!

…Fall…

The wraith breathed, deliberately keeping muscles relaxed, bracing for the ensuing sensory onslaught as… The universe shifted…

Chaos. Turmoil. Anarchy.

…Rise…

…Fall…

The fear fluttered in its cage, but the wraith ignored it. Focused entirely on maintaining emotional detachment. Sanity depended— SHIFTING!

—on his ability to dissociate…

…Rise…

…Fall…

Feelings. Sensations. Myriad and disparate. A tangled maze of mind-shattering incomprehensibility. A maze designed to be navigated on instinct. But instinct…

…was shifting.

…with the universe…

SHIFTING!

He couldn't navigate!

BREATHE!!! STAY APART!

The wraith retreated inwards, wrapping consciousness in the familiarity of meditation, protecting the essence of what made him 'him.'

…Rise…

…Fall…

Weather the mental storm!

Inexorable as a black hole, the psychic quake rattled the foundations of his psyche. Shaking. Weakening.

…Crumbling.

…Rise…

…Fall…

The wraith lay motionless, insulated within a cocoon of forced serenity. Watching as the structure of his mind shuddered. Collapsed… Then… Slowly. Minutely… Began reordering… Rebuilding… Restoring.

Only…

…Not quite the same patterns… Thought slid past thought. Impulse twisted, bent. Redirected… Priority skewed and realigned. Shifted… Priority!… Everything was Priority. The foundation— SHIFTING!

—was Priority! An explosive hiss as instinct surged. Resurfaced. Emotion. Feelings. Myriad and disparate. Senses clamoring. Understanding. Reality skimmed consciousness, flashed across perception. Existence within the maze was clear. Illuminated. …by instinct. Priority! Navigation was possible—

Clarity flickered. Vanished. Then…

…Reappeared. Only… Different… Not the same…

Flicker.

A different maze…? Different paths…?

Vanish.

All gone. Lost! NO!!

SHIFTING!

BREATHE!! DON'T THINK!

…In…

…Out…

…In…

…Out…

…Rise…

…Fall…

…

…Rise…

Acknowledge frustration. Set it aside…

…Fall…

…

…Rise…

…

…Fall…

Now… Accept the incomprehensible maze…

…Rise…

Crumbling and reforming…

…Fall…

…Rise…

Shifting and altering… With priority…

…Fall…

Like priority…

…Rise…

It will, eventually…

…Fall…

…

…Settle…

…

Illumination will return. …Eventually.

…With patience…

And calm…

…

…Instinct will illuminate…

Clarity…

Don't fight it…

…

…Rise…

…

…Fall…

…

Don't Push. Don't rush.

…

…Rise…

…

…Fall…

…

…Wraith are patient…

…

…Rise…

…

…Fall…

…

…

…Exist…

…

…Survive…

…

…

…Everything else…

…

…Follows…

…

…

…Rise…

…

…Fall…

…

…

…In…

…

…Out…

…

…

…Just breathe…

…

The universe shifted.

The wraith let it. His pale brow furrowed delicately, and sensitive lips twitched, reacting to the renewal of inner turmoil… He inhaled deeply, then exhaled softly. Felt the neuro-chemical shift continue restructuring his mind… Felt the gradual remolding of desires. Felt… The inexorable reordering of instinctual Priorities… Felt…

And deliberately chose… Not to fight it… Embraced it…

Tension evaporated. The wraith sank into the organic cushion of his sleeping pallet, finally, gratefully, and entirely relaxed. His face gently rolled to one side.

The universe shifted…

He shifted with it.

There was no use, raging against the inevitable…


	9. Chapter 8: Testing the Waters Part 1

And we're back in the past!

Hearty 'thank you's go to SGA-Seven, MandarinBlues, and Hagfish-plushie for responding to my request for feedback on the last chapter. I love hearing from you!

And now...

Happy reading!

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.

**Chapter Eight: Testing the Waters - Part One**

_**3 years, 48 weeks earlier**_

Sitting at a table in Atlantis's cafeteria, Rodney McKay morosely poked his purple Jello. He heaved a depressed sigh. The sound was echoed in several other parts of the room. The cafeteria was not a happy place. None of Atlantis was…

Atlantis hadn't been a happy place for three days now. The spectacular failure of the Hoffan drug, coupled with the Hoffans' insistence on using it anyway, despite its lethal side effects, (it killed half the people who took it), had dampened the spirits of Atlantis's inhabitants considerably. Knowing they were indirectly responsible for the mass suicide of half a civilized world's population, (and the mass murder of the other half once the wraith realized Hoffans were poisonous), had given new weight to the expedition's position in the Pegasus Galaxy. Earth's technology was a double-edged sword, a weapon as capable of harm as it was of good. It's capacity for destruction was enormous, and Atlantis had a moral obligation to make sure it was employed responsibly, with as little loss of life as possible. Tragedies, like Hoff, must be avoided at all costs.

Annoyed, Rodney poked his Jello again. The whole thing was absurd. Completely blown out of proportion… The physics department was actually hosting debates on whether Atlantis should adopt a version of Star Trek's Prime Directive.

Like that would help! Their very presence in Pegasus violated it!

Besides. Every argument FOR non-interference got shot down the instant anybody mentioned wraith… Rodney had been taking great pleasure in randomly walking in on the discussions, (under the pretense of refilling his coffee mug), and announcing, "Wraith," as loudly and blandly as possible…

Snorting softly, Dr. McKay poked his purple Jello again. The look on Zelenka's face the last time he'd walked in had been priceless…

"Poking at it won't turn it blue, you know."

The scientist spared Sheppard, who was sitting across from him, a dispirited glance. "Anything's possible."

"Not where red dye 40 is concerned."

Dr. McKay rolled his eyes. "I'm sure I could find something that would rearrange the wavelengths properly."

Chewing his sandwich, Sheppard shrugged. "Yeah," he conceded, "but it wouldn't change the taste."

The Jello jiggled sadly in its bowl. "I suppose not…"

"Blue tasting purple would just be wrong," the Major continued.

McKay grimaced. "Yeah…"

Emerging from the serving line, Teyla Emmagen came over and stopped by Sheppard's shoulder. She caught his eye, and glanced at a vacant spot. "May I?"

"Sure." Sheppard scooted his tray over to make room.

The Athosian set her food down and took a seat. After a few bites, she noticed McKay's unusual, Jello-poking silence. She eyed her teammates curiously. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Naah," Sheppard flashed Teyla a reassuring smile, "McKay's just pouting 'cause his glove hunt experienced a minor setback."

Rodney frowned. "Technically its a break through."

"If it scraps half your theories and complicates things insanely, it's not a break through," Sheppard quipped. "It's a setback."

"You're forgetting the, 'not supplying any useful information,' part."

Teyla wrinkled her brow. "That does sound like a setback." She looked at Rodney with concern. "To what break through are you referring?"

Before McKay could reply, Sheppard dropped his half-eaten sandwich and wiggled his fingers spookily. "The beads," he whispered, "The beadsssss…."

Remembering the glass jar she'd seen earlier, Teyla raised an eyebrow. "What is wrong with the beads? You seem to have collected many of them."

"Exactly!" McKay snapped. He stuck a spoonful of Jello in his mouth.

Seeing Teyla's confusion, Sheppard clarified the annoyed statement. "He's collected TOO many. We've got, what? Five gloves-worth now?"

"Six and a half," Rodney muttered. "Dr. Sheckle found another deposit this morning. A dozen bottom feeder skeletons in an air-duct."

"She's pretty good at finding those things, isn't she?" Sheppard mused.

"I almost wish she wasn't…"

"I do not understand," Teyla interrupted. "Why are large quantities of beads problematic? Would it not make experimenting easier?"

"Ah!" Rodney shook his spoon at her, "You'd think that, wouldn't you?"

"I take it, it does not?"

"No, it doesn't!" McKay dropped his spoon, going into lecture mode. "We don't know what the beads are. Our scanners can't penetrate them. But we know they do stuff 'cause they light up whenever Steve feeds."

"I think they're food pellets," Sheppard interjected.

Rodney ignored him. "However, since we can't scan them, we don't know what they're doing. Or whether they all do the same thing. What we DO know is that the wraith feeding process is ridiculously complicated. Now, I've theorized, (Carson and Zelenka agree, I might add), that the beads differ internally. They serve different purposes. Unfortunately, visually, they all look exactly the same—"

"So we can't tell them apart," Sheppard said.

"—And we can't tell them apart." McKay shot Sheppard an annoyed glare, whereupon the Major reclaimed his sandwich and resumed eating. "Since we can't tell them apart, we don't know how many types there are. We don't know how many of each type the glove uses, and, structurally speaking, we don't know which type goes where."

Teyla toyed with her salad. "I fear I am missing something, Dr. McKay. I fail to see how the number of beads affects this problem."

"I was getting to that," McKay huffed. "Now, if we had a new glove and wanted to add beads to it, instead of having the right number of beads and a horrendously complicated combination to unravel—"

"He means putting the right bead types in the right place," Sheppard whispered.

"—We now have a horrendously complicated combination to unravel, and no way of knowing if we're using the right ratios of bead types to solve it—"

"Meaning the lock picks we're using might not be compatible with the lock."

"—And the horrendously complicated combination has just soared several degrees of magnitude into the stratosphere of numerical complexity. Every extra bead we find boosts it higher, and it's already well beyond our fastest computer's ability to calculate practically." Finally pausing for breath, Dr. McKay smirked and attacked his Jello, silently daring the Major to simplify that last bit.

Accepting the challenge, Sheppard looked at Teyla and said, "Every new bead represents millions of keys, and programming a computer to find the right one won't work because there're so many that trying them one by one will take an unrealistic amount of time." He winked at her and finished his ham sandwich.

The Athosian smiled, amused by the verbal antics. "I see. I believe I now understand the issue." Rodney snorted, and her chocolate eyes slid towards him. "However, I do not think it is that big of a problem. You should look on the bright side."

"What bright side?" McKay scoffed. "There's no bright side here!"

Teyla raised an eyebrow admonishingly. "At least you now know that the lock picks you are using might not work. That is valuable knowledge indeed."

"I suppose…" the scientist muttered skeptically.

"It is," she continued. "Now that you know the key must be searched for, you can devise a clever way of looking for it. That is preferable to trying an incorrect key multiple times while thinking the problem lies elsewhere."

"Huh." Rodney eyed Teyla with respect. "I hadn't looked at it that way before…" Picking up his last bite of Jello, he slurped it down, muttering, "I'll share that with Zelenka the next time he complains about being on bead sifting duty…"

Starting in on his own bowl of gelatin, (green, not purple), Major Sheppard grinned at Teyla playfully. "You're good at cheering people up. You know that, right?"

The Athosian shrugged, "Being able to see many sides of an issue, both good or bad, is an important part of being a leader." She added modestly, "I have had practice."

Sheppard mirrored her tone teasingly. "Any other words of wisdom today?"

Frowning slightly, Teyla paused. She ate a bit of salad while deciding whether to take advantage of the opening. "Actually… There is something I wish to talk about."

Realizing the conversation had turned serious, the Major nodded, "I'm listening."

Teyla set her fork down. "Is the prisoner still asking to see you?"

Rodney perked up at the mention of Steve. He glanced at Sheppard, who frowned, all traces of joking gone. "Yeah…" the Major nodded warily.

Not entirely comfortable, despite having brought the subject up, Teyla chose her words carefully. "Do you intend to go to him?"

Sheppard's response was laden with wraith-directed annoyance. "No."

"Absolutely not!" Dr. McKay agreed.

Teyla was mildly taken aback. "You seem quite emphatic…"

"Of course we're emphatic!" McKay leaned forward, peering at her intently. "Did you see those tapes? The way he treated Elizabeth?" He threw his hands up. "I mean, what the Hell WAS that!? Who does that wraith think he is?!"

"I saw the tape. He was not openly rude…" Teyla protested.

"That's beside the point," McKay sniffed. "He was disrespectful."

"He's got to learn his place," Sheppard explained. "I thought he'd figured it out. But when he asked for the can openers…" Shaking his head, he raised his hands and floated them about in a, 'let's everyone just slow down and take it easy,' gesture. "Steve stepped out line. So I'm, you know… Giving him time to think about what he did wrong. Letting him cool his heels for a bit."

"And to this end," Teyla said, "you are ignoring him?"

Rodney sniggered. "Yup! Bound to drive him nuts."

"Especially with the objects of his curiosity sitting right in front of him," Sheppard added. "Inches away. Barely out of reach."

The scientist sighed happily, "Ohhhh, that would kill me."

The Athosian woman raised a disapproving eyebrow. "And you do not consider such a reaction on Atlantis's part to be… Childish?"

Sheppard grinned, "Not in the slightest!"

"Course not!" Rodney quipped.

Teyla was unconvinced. "Rubbing his nose in his status as a prisoner by refusing to interact with him because he offended you… How is this not childish?"

Sighing, Major Sheppard mussed his hair. "Look," he said placatingly, "It's just for a little while. A week. Maybe two. He needs to be disciplined. It's not like we're falling behind without his input on the research—"

"There's nothing to fall behind on, yet," Rodney muttered.

"—And it's not like he's gonna starve in the meantime—"

"He's better fed than I am," McKay griped.

"—And," Sheppard added, pointing, "Boredom is a surprisingly good motivator."

McKay shuddered dramatically. "Boredom… Ugh."

Amused, Teyla looked from one to the other of the pair. She raised her voice questioningly. "You have thought this out, I see…?"

Sheppard winked conspiratorially at her and exchanged smug glances with Rodney. "Had to convince Elizabeth to authorize the tactic."

"It's funny," Rodney added, sounding perplexed, "She said it was childish too. Can't imagine why… Maybe it's a female thing."

Teyla looked at him warningly.

"Okay, moving on," Sheppard interjected, "Why are we discussing Steve, again?"

"Teyla brought him up."

Sheppard and McKay both looked at the Athosian expectantly.

Smiling apprehensively, Teyla decided to stop circling the issue. She folded her hands and looked at Sheppard earnestly. "I think you should stop ignoring the prisoner."

"What?" McKay laughed disbelievingly. "You're not serious?"

"I am."

Sheppard frowned. "You think I should talk to him…"

"Yes," Teyla nodded, "I do."

"But you don't even like him!" McKay protested.

"My personal feelings on this matter are irrelevant."

The Major pursed his lips thoughtfully. "May I ask why you're suggesting this? You haven't expressed interest in talking with Steve before."

"And I'm not expressing interest now," Teyla corrected. "You should be the one to talk to him."

Rodney snorted incredulously, "Why?"

"For starters, Major Sheppard is the person he is asking for."

"And we're bowing to a wraith prisoner's whim, why?" McKay asked

Teyla shook her head. "Because I do not believe it is a whim."

"Oh, please. Of course it's a—"

"Go on, Teyla." Sheppard's interest was peaked. "We're listening."

Dr. McKay grumbled sullenly, but quieted under The Major's stare.

Teyla smiled at Sheppard gratefully. "You are aware of my ability to sense the wraith?" The pair nodded obligingly. "I have been able to sense the prisoner's presence on Atlantis since his capture. Up until now, it has been relatively constant."

"Wait," Rodney interrupted, "Up until now?"

"Something's different," Sheppard guessed.

"Yes," Teyla confirmed. "The prisoner's presence has felt distant lately. Smaller somehow…" Unable to find better words to describe it, she shook her head. "I do not know what it means, but it is different from when he is stunned, or sleeping."

"You can tell when Steve's asleep?" Rodney squeaked.

"That must be weird," Sheppard muttered.

Teyla merely raised an eyebrow. "Normally I would think nothing of it. In fact, at first I thought I was just becoming used to his presence—"

"But you don't now," Sheppard finished.

"No."

"Why not?" Rodney huffed.

"Because the change occurred almost thirty-six hours ago. As I recently discovered, that is exactly the same time when the prisoner's requests to see Major Sheppard began." Silence met Teyla's revelation. Then…

"Aw, crap," Sheppard attacked the last of his Jello with a vengeance.

"Why is everything so complicated?" McKay whined.

"When sentient beings are involved," Teyla offered, "complications are a given."

"That's why I like science! The only sentient being involved is me."

The green gelatin guzzled noisily.

"Hey, guys? Did I miss something?" Lieutenant Ford deposited his tray across from Teyla, next to Rodney, and sat down. He surveyed his dismayed and pouting teammates quizzically. "Looks like we're having fun here."

Teyla addressed the young marine with bemusement. "Do not be alarmed. Sheppard and McKay are merely experiencing the inevitable call of responsibility."

Aiden grinned and started eating. "I feel for you guys."

"Yeah, I bet you do," Rodney muttered.

"No, seriously. I just came off duty."

Sheppard slurped his last spoonful down. "Off Steve duty…"

"Yup. And speaking of Steve…" Lieutenant Ford paused to swallow a large bite, unaware that his words had sparked a brief exchange of meaningful looks. Taking a drink of milk, he glanced at Sheppard. "He was asking for you again." Ford shrugged and wiped his chin with his napkin. "You might want to check it out. I think something's bothering him…" Oblivious to the stir that statement created, he fluttered a hand before his face, carelessly spewing bits of lettuce from his sandwich. "He's doing that whole, pinching the top of his nose thing…"

Major Sheppard's chair scraped noisily across the floor as he abruptly stood, picked up his tray, and headed for the dirty dishes bins.

Ford looked after him in surprise. "Yo, man! Where ya going?"

"Answering the call of responsibility," Sheppard called dryly.

Ford looked confused.

"We all have to grow up sometime," Teyla explained sagely.

Rodney snorted. "Speak for yourself." Getting up, the scientist returned to the lunch line and got seconds on Jello.

-------------------------------------------------

The wraith was, indeed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Hiding a frown, Major Sheppard emerged from the alcove's stairwell and made his way to the holding cell. Steve stood in the far left corner of the cage, directly opposite the bar where the finger guards still lay. As the Major approached, his gloved feeding hand dropped, and the wraith looked up, turning partially to face him.

"You came." The resonant voice was subdued.

Sheppard didn't respond immediately. He studied Steve a moment. Despite having asked to see the Major repeatedly over the last three days, the prisoner sounded surprised by his presence. He looked surprised too, if Sheppard was reading his expression right. The wraith's lean frame was tense, and he also looked… Tired?

The Major's internal frown deepened. Steve shouldn't be tired. He wasn't DOING anything. Heck, there was nothing for him TO do. He was in a cell.

The wraith's eyes narrowed under the silent scrutiny. Facing his captor fully, he moved a step or two closer. "I did not expect to see you this soon."

Abandoning the puzzle, Sheppard shrugged cheekily. "Yeah, well, I had nothing better to do." He began pacing around the cell, feigning disinterest.

Unlike during previous stalking conversations, Steve quickly fell behind. Sheppard looked back without stopping. Okay, that was a little odd… The wraith had slowed and seemed unwilling to follow him the entire length of the cage. Reaching a corner, Sheppard rounded it. Steve mirrored the motion and quickened his steps to match, paralleling his captor's path from several meters away. When Sheppard reached the next corner, he slowed again, allowing his captor time to catch up. Afterwards, he kept pace normally once more. It was almost as if an invisible wall had sprouted in the holding cell, putting two thirds of the small space off limits to the wraith…

In keeping with this theory, Steve's footsteps quieted as the Major started a second circuit. The black-coated alien fell behind again.

Stopping a few steps into the bizarre no-go zone, Sheppard turned and raised an eyebrow questioningly. Catching his gaze, Steve blinked slowly and stilled. His olive, oval-pupiled eyes, staring sedately at his captor, illuminated nothing.

Sheppard looked at the cell wall he'd been heading for. The finger guards twinkled back at him, gleaming in the bluish light… The idea that the wraith was actively avoiding the inanimate objects, the fixation of his earlier curiosity, flitted briefly across the Major's mind, but he dismissed it. Assuming things where wraith were concerned was a bad idea. Atlantis knew too little about the species…

Reversing course, Sheppard walked back to Steve. He wasn't interested in talking with the distance between them constantly shifting. If the no-go zone was connected to the summons, which he suspected it was, he'd eventually learn the reason for it. "So…" Shooting a meaningful glance at the shunned part of the cage, Sheppard propped his hands on a horizontal bar and proceeded to pointedly ignore the issue. He met the wraith's eyes lazily. "I hear you've been asking for me."

"Yes…" Steve tilted his head in a deliberately non-confrontational manner. His voice conveyed a sense of bone-penetrating weariness. "I have a request."

Major Sheppard laughed dryly. "Cause that worked so well for you last time." He sobered, dead-panning seriously, "Ever heard of the phrase, 'pushing your luck?'"

The wraith's pale lips twitched in a soft hiss, "No."

Well… That explained a Hell of a lot. "I see…"

When Sheppard didn't follow up that response, Steve's gaze slid towards the no-go zone, fixing briefly on the finger guards. "Those organic tools…" he refocused on his captor, "I am finished with them. You may return them to your queen."

"Her name's Dr. Weir," Sheppard corrected. "Atlantis doesn't have a queen."

Steve narrowed his eyes slightly. "You may return them to Dr. Weir, then."

Sheppard glared, his disbelief warring with annoyance. "Did you really bend Ford's ear for three days just to tell me that?" he snapped. "Cause I'm not an errand boy. Requests like that can be carried out by your guards."

The wraith continued as if he hadn't spoken. "When you do, you may also convey to Dr. Weir my apologies. I was not myself."

It took a monumental effort for Sheppard to avoid gaping in astonishment. He couldn't possibly have heard right! "Excuse me?"

"My behavior was influenced by outside sources. The problem has been rectified." Steve's eyes slipped closed. When they reopened, they were pointedly averted from Sheppard's face. The submissive intent was clear. "Please assure Dr. Weir that such a display of shameless begging on my part will not be repeated."

"I should hope not," Sheppard growled. He couldn't decide whether to laugh or get angry. Steve's bland tone contradicted his words, making this the most unapologetic sounding apology the Major had ever heard, (and in the air force, he'd heard some doozies). Plus it was entirely unexpected. Not to mention confusing. "Your behavior was influenced, huh?" Sheppard performed an exaggerated, visual search of the room. "By what? There's nothing down here but you and this cage."

Catching the Major's eye, Steve cocked his head and shifted his gaze meaningfully to the finger guards. "As I told your queen—" The wraith quickly corrected himself, "As I told Dr. Weir," his oval pupils refocused on Sheppard, "these tools contain complex, symbiotic organic circuitry. They are alive."

"Alive." Sheppard considered Ford's can openers with renewed interest.

"Yes," Steve hissed. "They require nutrients to survive."

"Nutrients supplied by the wraith wearing them," Sheppard guessed. How fitting. Giant life-suckers creating smaller suckers to do their work for them…

"That assumption is accurate." Steve's lips twitched in a brief grin, "Unlike my kind, they do not eat much. They are very efficient. Separated from their host, they can survive centuries of inactivity." The wraith's tone was almost reverent.

"But these weren't inactive," Sheppard interrupted.

Steve expelled a soft chuff of agreement. "Weren't and aren't. Self-preservation requires much energy. Decades of exposure to corrosive sodium ions—"

"Saltwater," Sheppard simplified.

"—would have taxed it's power supply considerably."

"Meaning they're probably hungry."

Steve snorted disdainfully, reminiscent of an offended McKay. "There is no 'probably,'" he hissed. "They ARE hungry."

Major Sheppard eyed him suspiciously. "And you know this, how…?"

In a testament to the weariness in his posture, Steve didn't seem to notice the warning in his captor's tone. "Because they are equipped with a telepathic interface."

"A telepathic interface…"

"Yes."

Leaning nearer to the bars, Sheppard beckoned for Steve to come closer.

Face tilted quizzically, the wraith complied. He sank to the Major's eye level.

Sheppard smiled disarmingly. "The same telepathic interface that you told Dr. Weir was TOUCH activated…?" Deliberate, pointed emphasis on the 'touch.'

Green eyes widened in belated realization.

"Unless I'm very much mistaken," Sheppard's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, "You haven't actually touched them yet."

Steve jerked back a step, ivory hair swinging. "It IS touch activated," he hissed.

Sheppard's smile vanished, "Then how do you know they're hungry?"

Baring translucent teeth, the wraith opened his mouth to speak. Then appeared to think better of it. He narrowed his eyes and turned away, expelling a sharp huff. Long coat panels fanned as he paced a tight circle, keeping away from the no-go zone. When he stopped, it was with his back to the finger guards. Not looking at Sheppard, Steve averted his face submissively. "I know because I made an error."

Surprised by the admission, Major Sheppard frowned, "What sort of error?"

A low, prolonged hiss. "A reckless one…"

Intriguing. Whether he was tired, or had merely grown comfortable in his captor's presence, this was the first time Steve had voluntarily provided a glimpse of his personal feelings. Sadly, at the moment, it was an unhelpful glimpse…

"Afraid you'll have to be more specific," Sheppard quipped.

"You are familiar with my conversation with Dr. Weir…"

"Yeah, I'm familiar with it."

"Then you know of the tools' exceptional quality and likely origin." Barely moving, the wraith glanced at Sheppard for confirmation.

Sheppard nodded, "I've got an inkling."

Steve hissed softly. "The technology for creating telepathic interfaces accessible from a distance is bulky. Reduction is impractical due to prohibitively high metabolic requirements. Specifically, a rate of exponential increase."

"The smaller it is, the hungrier it is," Sheppard muttered.

"That is correct," Steve's pale face turned towards his captor slightly, "Attempts to circumvent this problem have all resulted in failure. Progress has been stalled for millennia. However…" Ivory strands slipped from Steve's shoulders as he craned his neck and looked behind him. His oval pupils fastened on the organic tools. "The hive that produced those was known for making revolutionary technological advances. Its scientists were especially skilled at refining and manipulating micro-circuitry."

Major Sheppard's eyes wandered involuntarily to Steve's feeding hand and the Ancient glove. Micro-circuitry… Why was he not surprised?

"Knowing the origin of these tools, I… became curious…"

Steve fell silent, staring at the finger guards.

Sheppard looked up. The wraith showed no signs of elaborating. After a few seconds, he cleared his throat conspicuously. "Curious about what?"

Startling, Steve snorted sharply, then shook his head as if clearing it. "Curious about what was in them." Long hair rippling, he tore his gaze from the tools, stepping further away from the no-go zone. "If a long distance interface exists anywhere in this galaxy," rapidly blinking eyes darted to the Major's face, "It would—"

"—probably be in those things," Sheppard guessed.

"Yes…" The wraith was breathing quickly.

Sheppard shook his head disapprovingly. Messing with unknown tech accounted for at least half of Atlantis's problems… "Steve, what the Hell did you do?"

Instead of bristling at the hostile tone, Steve averted his face again. His light-washed hair swung down, like an obscuring curtain, and he inhaled a deep breath. The exhalation was long and slow. And devoid of answers…

"Steve…" Sheppard growled, warningly.

No response. The wraith inhaled and exhaled once more.

Sheppard skirted the cell's nearest corner and stopped directly in front of the prisoner. Steve looked down and closed his eyes. "I asked you a question, Steve."

Another slow breath. The startled posture calmed. "I heard…"

"Then answer it!" snapped Sheppard.

The downcast eyes slit open, olive irises studying the floor. The shadowed face tilted slightly. "I," pale lips twitched, emitting a soft chuff, "probed them…"

If it was possible for a life-sucking alien to look guilty, Steve was doing a passable impression of it. Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "You probed them."

A subdued hiss followed by a jerky nod, "Yes"

"Telepathically," Sheppard pressed, crossing his arms.

Steve tilted his head the other way, "Yes…"

"Through the force field."

The wraith's eyes finally snapped to Sheppard's face. "Obviously," he spat.

Not amused, Sheppard met the annoyed stare unwaveringly. "And let me guess," He mirrored the tilt of Steve's head flippantly, "They noticed you."

Hissing, Steve bared his teeth, guilty attitude vanishing. "One-way telepathic sensors are much easier to reduce than interactive interfaces."

Sheppard deadpanned. "Is that right?" A snorting chuff was his answer. He leaned closer to the bars, asking, "What exactly did you trigger?"

Eyes never leaving his captor's, Steve lifted his chin and turned away slightly, hooking some hair behind one ear with a black-gloved finger. "Another self-preservation mechanism… One designed to protect against starvation."

"Starvation?" The Major grimaced, remembering what the little suckers ate.

"Yes," The wraith gave a sharp nod. "The one who made these invested much effort in their creation. If lost or stolen, he wouldn't want that effort destroyed by careless ignorance. He'd want to recover them alive. And intact."

"And he'd need time to do so," Sheppard guessed.

Coat rustling, Steve lowered his chin and stepped closer to the bars. "If they could feed themselves, they'd be more likely to survive separation…"

Sheppard was pretty sure he wouldn't like the next answer… "How, exactly, do they feed themselves?"

A low hiss whispered through the cell, "By attracting a new host…"

Yeah, he called that one, all right. "Attracting… a new host…"

"Yes." Steve cocked his head, snorting softly, "Upon sensing my presence, the tools began emitting a low-power, telepathic signal." His oval pupils idly drifted to the ceiling, "It… stimulated the urge to pick them up and use them."

"And you didn't mention this at the time, why?" Sheppard snapped condescendingly.

Green eyes glared daggers at him. "Because, Major John Sheppard," Steve hissed, "I didn't notice it, then." The wraith's pale lips twitched with dark amusement, "The signal is subtle. Specifically designed NOT to be noticed." Admiration abruptly flooded his voice, "Actually, I suspect a pairing of signals. The secondary being designed to inhibit reflection on the origin of urges created by the first—"

"When DID you notice?" Sheppard interrupted.

Steve huffed irritably, "Roughly nine guard shifts ago. When I realized I was repeatedly stopping myself from trying to reach for them."

The Major did some quick math. Nine guard shifts… That was thirty-six hours, the same time Teyla claimed Steve's presence had changed…

Leaning forward, Steve hissed in wide-eyed seriousness. "If it weren't for this force field," his fingers flexed, tightly gripping a horizontal bar, "I would NEVER have noticed." The black coat's faceted shoulders glittered with a shudder, "I'd have picked them up and fed them, without questioning the wisdom of my actions."

At the open display of unease, Sheppard frowned. Despite his admiration for the tools' maker, the wraith seemed genuinely shaken…

"I tried to contact you immediately," Steve continued, "But my behavior…"

"Ensured I wouldn't come," Sheppard finished.

"As I said, I was not myself. I was influe—" Shaking himself, the wraith pressed closer to the cage wall. "Major Sheppard, I wish to reiterate my request. You may return the tools to yo— to Dr. Weir… Along with my apologies."

Unwilling to give in too easily, Sheppard looked away. "I don't know," he waffled, "You have to admit, something about this situation is inherently amusing…"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Steve's posture slump.

"Major Sheppard…" A hissing sigh, "It would be in both of our interests for you to grant this request…"

"Really?" The Major raised a cocky eyebrow, "How do you figure that?"

Weariness pervaded the multi-toned voice, "The signal is still present. Though I have closed my mind to it, it remains… Distracting." The rustle of heavy leather accompanied a softly expelled chuff, "Luckily its range is limited—"

Sheppard hid a smile. That explained the no-go zone…

"—however, it is growing in strength. Once it encompasses the entire cell…"

The wraith's dark form shivered, making Sheppard glance at him. Steve was bracing his arms on the cage wall, lichen forehead lightly resting against a bar. His olive eyes were closed. "The signal's effect is subtle and cumulative," he continued, elaborating, "Eventually my concentration will lapse. When that happens…" His voice deepened, reverberating with resignation, "I WILL reach for them…"

"You'll… reach for them," Sheppard slowly repeated. He had the distinct impression that he was missing something…

"Unconsciously," the wraith sighed. "And repeatedly…"

Yup. Definitely missing something. "So you get zapped a few tim—"

An explosive snort interrupted him. Steve's shadowed eyes slit open.

"WHEN," he hissed, "I ultimately reach for them…" Metal rasped as Steve conspicuously flexed his fingers. "There is no guarantee which HAND I will use."

Fully dilated oval pupils fastened meaningfully on Sheppard's face.

"I see…" Sheppard murmured. His gaze slid past the wraith, landing on the insidiously twinkling finger guards. "Their presence endangers the glove."

A relieved hiss. "Unguarded impulses are, by their nature, thoughtless. Unpredictable." The beads lining Steve's wrist flickered. "If the tools remain in my presence, I will be unable to assure this artifact's continued safety."

Deciding the wraith had a valid point, (he distinctly recalled the glove's last encounter with the force field), and not wanting to get chewed out by McKay for willfully endangering it, Sheppard said condescendingly, "Well. Since you put it that way…" He backed up a step and began pacing around the outside of the cell. "Let's see what I can do about granting your newest request."

Coat rustling, Steve turned in place, following him with his eyes. "That would be appreciated," he murmured. He lowered his pale face submissively.

Reaching the can openers, Sheppard stopped and looked at the deceptive little suckers. He tapped his radio. "Dr. Weir, this is Major Sheppard."

The radio crackled, "What is it, Major?"

"Do I have permission to remove the artifacts from the holding cell?"

"Of course, Major. May I ask why?"

Sheppard glanced at Steve, "It's kinda a long story."

A short pause. "I see… Very well. Return them to my office. Weir out."

Carefully avoiding the lethal razors, Major Sheppard lifted the tools from the bar and headed for the alcove. As he did, Steve skirted the far edges of his cage, maximizing the distance between himself and the artifacts. Noticing this, Sheppard gave the cell a wider berth. He wasn't a fan of cruel and unusual punishment, and coupling a telepathic siren's call with an obstructing force field fell into both those categories…

When he reached the exit, Sheppard glanced over his shoulder and gave the wraith a mock salute. "See ya, Steve."

Steve snorted sharply, gaze fixed on the retreating back. "I will be here…"

Grinning at the dry wit, The Major headed up the stairs. His footsteps echoed in the stairwell. As the rhythmic sounds faded, tension drained from Steve's frame like grain spilling from a torn sack. Straightening, the wraith shook himself and paced a circuit within his cell. Then he turned towards the middle. Unmindful of his guards' watchful stares, he stopped under the light, and bowed his head.

His green eyes slipped closed.

A long, relieved sigh drifted from the cell…

-------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading! Please review! Again, things I'm working on specifically are: 1. Maintaining a Season 1 feel in the flashback chapters. 2. Keeping the regulars in character.


	10. Chapter 9: Testing the Waters Part 2

Oh, my goodness. I am so sorry for this delay. I had a sinus infection. Then we had a week of rain, which killed our satellite connection. Then I was at my grandmother's beach house, again no internet. Then we came back, and our internet was still down even though it was sunny. And now I'm posting this from a Panera cause the satellite is is STILL out, and to top it off I'm rushed cause of the lunch crush.

Please forgive me!

Okay, now that the excuses are out of the way...

Happy reading!

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.

**Chapter Nine: Testing the Waters - Part Two**

_**3 years, 48 weeks earlier**_

On M1X-347, Sergeant Bates shielded his eyes from the sun and surveyed the horizon, methodically patrolling the area around the alien planet's inactive Stargate. Nothing moved, save for the distant shadows of a few circling birds and the familiar shapes of his team. They'd been exploring the rocky terrain, and the forests surrounding the granite fields, for several hours. So far, they had little to show for their efforts.

His radio squawked. "Geerman to Sergeant Bates."

Bates tapped his earpiece. "Report, Lieutenant."

"I've got signs, Sir. The Athosians' report checks out."

Pausing in his patrol, Sergeant Bates swung about and stared at the distant swath of evergreens where Lieutenant Geerman was investigating. "What sort of signs?"

A static clinking of equipment. "Torn up tree stumps. Clawed trunks…"

"How big are the claw marks?"

"Pretty big, Sir. Wait a sec…" Bates heard a low whistle. "Wow. Yeah, whatever made these was huge. There's a boulder here. Solid granite. All gouged up… The gashes are wide enough to fit my fingers. Couple inches deep."

Sergeant Bates frowned. Claw marks in granite… "Are they fresh?"

Two miles away, in a dim, leafy glade, Lieutenant Geerman pushed away from the towering, mossy stone and reexamined the mauled tree trunks. He fingered a deep tear in the thick, knobbly bark. "Relatively fresh, Sir. Sap's tacky. Given the humidity, I'd guess this happened 8 to 12 hours ago."

That put the gouging sometime in the last hours of the planet's night. Again, in accordance with the Athosians' report. Sergeant Bates mentally scratched M1X-347 off the list of potential Alpha sites. "Understood. Make your way back to the Gate."

"Should I complete my circuit? I'm almost done."

Bates eyed the cloudless sky. There was plenty of daylight left. "Go ahead, Lieutenant. But don't take unnecessary risks. Avoid caves and steer clear of tracks."

"Got it, Sir." In the glade, Lieutenant Geerman jumped down from a mangled tree stump and regretfully skirted a cool, rippling stream. "Geerman out."

With a slight, rueful grin, Sergeant Bates relayed Geerman's findings to the rest of his team. Then he shook his head at the chorus of disappointed grumbling that ensued. To a man, (and to a woman), the consensus had been that M1X-347 was a temperate paradise. Plentiful resources, rich soil, abundant wildlife, picturesque landscapes… Everyone had been hoping the Athosians' description was exaggerated.

But, sadly, it was not. The planet, though frequently visited, boasted no permanent population because it was only habitable during the day.

Nocturnal predators were a bitch.

Especially giant ones…

"I know, people. It's a terrible hardship not setting up shop on a planet populated by man-eating beasts." The grumbling complaints stopped. Satisfied, Bates continued, "Finish your current survey quadrants and return to the Gate. We're wrapping early. This world has nothing that Atlantis needs now." What they needed were trading partners and safe havens. M1X-347 was neither.

"Actually… That might not be true."

Sergeant Bates frowned. "Specifics, Dr. Corde."

"I'm picking up faint energy readings…" There was a pause, and the rustle of disturbed foliage came over the radio. "I'm following them…"

"What sort of energy readings?"

"I'm not sure. But they're definitely not natural." The scientist hesitated. Then… "They're originating outside my quadrant."

Bates's frown deepened. "Stay in your quadrant, Doctor."

"But—"

"No buts!" Bates strode purposefully towards the dialing device. "I'm sending Laris to you. Do not leave your assigned quadrant until she's with you."

"I understand."

Stopping by the mushroom-shaped console, Sergeant Bates shouldered his P-90 and began keying in Atlantis's address. "Private Laris, did you get that?"

The radio crackled softly. "Yes, Sir. I'm heading to Corde's position."

"Good. The rest of us will follow shortly. If you find the source of the signals, do not. I repeat. DO NOT approach until the rest of us get there."

"Will do, Sir. We'll wait for back up."

"Everyone else. Change of plans. When you've finished surveying your current quadrants, rendezvous in Dr. Corde's area. We'll regroup there before investigating." A brief chorus of affirmatives issued from the earpiece. "Bates out." With a satisfying clunk, Sergeant Bates depressed the final symbol and slapped the central activation switch. Energy electrified the air surrounding the hilltop as the Stargate's chevrons locked, then a watery explosion materialized in mid-air, bursting from the two-story metal ring. The churning energy frothed for a fraction of a second, a suspended, sideways geyser, then imploded in on itself and snapped into a rippling, blue pool.

Sergeant Bates tapped his radio again. "Atlantis, this is Sergeant Bates. Transmitting IDC now."

Peter Grodin's voice answered. "IDC confirmed. You're early, Sergeant. Is something the matter?"

"Not yet. But we have a development." In a business-like tone, Bates rattled off his message. "SGA-2 has confirmed the rumors about this planet. We've also picked up some energy readings. My team is moving away from the Stargate to investigate. We'll send updates as information becomes available."

"I see." In Atlantis's control room, Peter Grodin noted the intel in his log. "I'll pass this along. We'll check-in with you at the regular time. Remember. You MUST return to the Stargate before sundown. With the rumors confirmed, it is imperative."

Sergeant Bates nodded grimly. "We'll be there."

"Good luck, SGA-2."

"Thank you, Atlantis. Bates out."

As the wormhole flickered out of existence, Sergeant Bates left the DHD behind, and strode down the hill to join the shadowy shapes slowly migrating across the rocky terrain. He set a brisk, yet cautious, pace through the grass-concealed rocks. A few minutes later, (roughly a third of the way to the tree line), his radio crackled to life again.

"Laris to Sergeant Bates."

"Go ahead, Private."

"I've rendezvoused with Dr. Corde. We're about to exit the quadrant."

Glancing at the sky, Bates quickened his pace. "Understood. Keep an eye on your watch. If you think you're running out of daylight, turn around. We can always come back later with a Jumper."

"Will do, Sir. Time shouldn't be a problem. Dr. Corde thinks we're close."

"Good. Continue checking in at regular intervals."

"No problem. Laris out."

M1X-347's sun crept slowly across the sky, inexorably ticking away the remainder of the afternoon. A breeze ruffled the grass, rippling the long stalks as if they were the surface of a sea. Upon reaching the field's edge, Sergeant Bates found most of his team, including the extra marines he'd appropriated, waiting in the tree line. His black eyes flicked from face to face, performing a quick headcount. Lieutenant Geerman was the only one missing, (aside from Corde and Laris). It made sense. The Lieutenant had had the farthest to travel. Bates tapped his radio.

"Bates to Geerman. Where are you, Lieutenant?"

"Here sir!" Panting, Lieutenant Geerman emerged from the underbrush.

Bates tapped his radio again, this time contacting Private Laris and Dr. Corde. "This is Sergeant Bates. What's your status?"

"We're near the source of the signal," Laris replied. "Dr. Corde thinks it's just on the other side of this ridge."

Sergeant Bates nodded and struck off into the forest. "Good. We're on our way. Remember. Don't go near it until we reach you. I want—" Muffled cursing cut him off. He heard the sound of sticks cracking. "What was that?"

"Holy crap," Private Laris breathed.

"Report, Private!" Bates and his team quickened their pace.

Deep in the forest, atop the ridge, Laris peered down at a moss-covered structure with excitement, "We've found the source of the signal, Sir! I think it's—"

Dr. Corde cut her off, "Think nothing! I KNOW what it is! I read Major Sheppard's reports. But why here? And what the Hell is it for?"

Three miles away, Bates ground his teeth in frustration.

"Specifics, Doctor!"

-------------------------------------------------

**Meanwhile…**

In Atlantis's central tower, Major Sheppard followed Dr. Weir past the Gateroom's control consoles and into the short hallway leading to her office. He smiled mischievously, glancing at the small glass-topped table that'd appeared by her door last night. A tall, one-liter jar refracted light onto the oval surface. It was a third full of amber beads. Scientists from Rodney's trawling team had been periodically visiting the Gateroom, adding to it all morning. The glimmering orange was a pleasant contrast against the subdued grays and tans of the Ancient architecture.

It actually looked stylish.

Of course, the clumsily scrawled, 'Give a Penny, Take a Penny,' sign that Sheppard had hastily taped to it earlier was a bit gauche, but… Hey.

"So…" Dr. Weir sidled to her desk as Sheppard shut the door, "Our prisoner is done examining the artifacts?"

"You could say that." Holding up the can-openers, Major Sheppard gingerly handed them to her. "It was more like he couldn't get rid of them fast enough."

"Really?" Elizabeth took the artifacts with a raised eyebrow. "That's an about face. When I left the holding cell, he couldn't get enough of them…"

Atlantis's military leader shrugged. "Yeah, well… Mind control devices tend to have a repellant effect on people. Wraith included."

The eyebrow lifted higher, "Mind control?"

"Yup," Sheppard pointed at the finger guards, "According to Steve, they're broadcasting a telepathic signal designed to attract wraith."

Frowning, Dr. Weir set the artifacts on her desk. The pineapple-leafed hive-mark glinted sinisterly as they rocked slightly. "Did he say why?"

"He thinks they're low on power." Sheppard explained how the living tools survived by feeding on their users. "When you brought them down, Steve decided it would be a good idea to telepathically probe them. They sensed his presence—"

"And thought he looked yummy…" Elizabeth stared at the finger guards thoughtfully. "A telepathic lure… Makes sense."

"In a creepy, mind control sort of way."

"Well, given the wraiths' psychic abilities, it's not surprising that they'd develop telepathic traps. I'd imagine such mental compulsions are common."

Sheppard shook his head. "I'm not so sure. Steve seemed disturbed by it. Fascinated, but disturbed. I think the idea of being manipulated seriously rattled him."

Elizabeth cocked her head, "Rattled? In what way?"

"A generally creeped out sort of way. I can pull the tapes if you like."

"That won't be necessary." Turning, Dr. Weir propped her arms on her desk, "I'll take your word for it. Did the prisoner learn anything else about them?"

"No. However, he does send his apologies."

Elizabeth gave a surprised laugh, "His apologies?"

"Yes," Sheppard smiled cutely, acknowledging the extraordinariness of his message, "Steve realizes he was out of line. He says his behavior was influenced and asked me to assure you that," he paused, wanting to quote the wraith correctly, "his 'display of shameless begging' won't be repeated." The Major raised an eyebrow, "Basically, he claimed the can openers made him do it."

Dr. Weir smiled wryly. "That's a new excuse."

"I liked it."

Elizabeth's radio crackled. "Control to Dr. Weir."

She tapped her earpiece. "Go ahead, Peter."

"SGA-2 just checked in again. They found the source of the energy readings."

Sheppard leaned forward to listen, "Energy readings…?" He'd been in the holding cell when Bates reported the signals earlier…

"Have they identified it yet?" Dr. Weir asked.

"Yes," Peter Grodin answered, "According to Sergeant Bates, the energy is emanating from an abandoned wraith base. He is preparing to make an incursion."

Striding quickly from the room, Sheppard joined Grodin at the Gateroom's communication console. "Is he sure it's abandoned?" he demanded.

Peter nodded, "No movement in the area. And no life signs detected."

"They don't show up as life signs if they're hibernating."

"I reminded the Sergeant of that. His first priority is a visual sweep of the interior to locate any hibernation cells. They have two detector's with them."

Sheppard remembered the rumors about the nocturnal beasts, "And extra support personnel in case of attack…" They should be adequately prepared… But, just in case. He tapped his radio. "Lieutenant Cadman, this is Major Sheppard. You're on standby. Grab a pilot with the ATA gene and assemble your squad in the Jumper Bay. Do it ASAP. Sergeant Bates may need an extraction."

"Understood, Sir. We'll be ready in five. Cadman out."

That should do it… Sheppard glanced at Peter. "When's he checking in next?"

"He asked me to dial every five minutes."

Sheppard nodded appreciatively. Bates knew how to cover his bases. "Keep that schedule. On his next call, patch me in."

"Understood, Major. His line will be routed to your radio."

"Thank you, Doctor." Turning on his heel, Sheppard returned to Weir's office. She looked up at his approach. "Well," he announced, "this will be interesting."

"I'm sure," Elizabeth murmured. "An abandoned wraith base…"

"Hopefully it actually IS abandoned."

"Sergeant Bates usually exercises sound judgment."

The image of Teyla's necklace, with its wraith transmitter, flashed in his mind. "Yes he does," Sheppard agreed. "I'm sure this'll go fine."

Dr. Weir smiled wryly, "Let's hope you didn't just jinx them."

Sheppard winced theatrically and changed the subject. "So…" he looked pointedly at the can openers, "What're your plans for the living lures?"

Light gleamed on the shorter tool's crescent razor as Elizabeth pulled it towards her. "I haven't decided yet. I was thinking of sending them to Biology. Carson's been badgering me ever since I told him they were organic."

"He'll have to fight Rodney for them," Sheppard warned. "Now that they're broadcasting telepathic signals, he'll want to run 'em through the scanners again."

"Good point. Maybe I should have them draw straws."

"There's always Rock, Paper, Scissors."

They stared at the glistening tools in amused silence for a moment. Then… "I'll let Rodney decide. He IS head of the Science Department."

"Yeah," Sheppard nodded sagely, "He'd end up with them anyway."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, "You think so?"

"Sure. See, Rodn—"

Sheppard's radio crackled, "Control to Major Sheppard. I'm about to contact Sergeant Bates. Dialing M1X-347 now." A short pause. "Wormhole established."

Turning, Sheppard listened to Grodin's voice while he watched the Stargate through the glass wall. Dr. Weir got up and stood beside him.

"Atlantis Base to SGA-2. Do you copy?"

Bates's reply was loud and clear, "We copy, Atlantis Base."

"Excellent. What's your status?"

"So far, so good. Everything's quiet here."

Weir and Sheppard shared relieved looks. The Major tapped his earpiece. "Sergeant, this is Sheppard. Have you found the signal source?"

"Yes, Major. The energy is coming from a single pedestal."

"Any sign of wraith?"

"Negative. We've visually scoured the entire base."

"That was fast," Elizabeth murmured.

"It's much smaller than we thought. Three rooms. No signs of recent habitation."

"You're sure about that?" Sheppard asked, frowning.

"Positive," Bates replied. "This place is dead. Literally. The pedestal's the only thing still alive."

Dr. Weir joined the channel, "Describe this pedestal."

"Yes, Ma'am. I'm looking at it now. It's about waist high. Top's two feet across. Has a pair of touch pads on its surface. We think it's a computer console."

"A computer console?" Sheppard glanced at Elizabeth. Atlantis hadn't had the opportunity to closely examine that level of working wraith tech yet…

"Yes, Sir. We're almost done sweeping the surrounding area. If it checks out clean, I'd like to return tomorrow with a full science team."

"At the moment, that's a very real possibility," Dr. Weir smiled widely. "Do you have anything else to report?"

"Nothing that can't wait for a regular debriefing, Ma'am."

"Then I'll look forward to it. Keep up the good work, Sergeant."

"We'll do our best. SGA-2 out."

As their radios crackled into silence, Major Sheppard and Dr. Weir stared at each other. Possibilities filled the air with excitement. This could be a break through.

Elizabeth's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I don't know," Sheppard quipped, clasping his hands behind his head. "Are you thinking Bates found a scientific key guaranteed to make Rodney's day by unlocking the secrets of life, death, and everything wraith in the universe?"

"Actually, I was thinking I should give the organic tools to Carson," Dr. Weir grinned. "Rodney will be too busy examining this to bother with them."

"That's okay," Sheppard shrugged. "I wasn't thinking that either."

She raised an eyebrow. "Then what WERE you thinking?"

The Major sobered, leaning forward seriously. "I was thinking," he said, "that this might be a good opportunity to see how committed Steve is to cooperating with us."

Dr. Weir frowned thoughtfully.

Seeing the notion wasn't immediately rejected, Sheppard pressed on, "He could show Rodney how to interface with wraith technology. He could translate—"

"You want to take a wraith prisoner off-world."

"We could discover the purpose of that base a lot faster with Steve's help."

Elizabeth regarded her military commander sternly. "Or he could sabotage it."

"Not if we take precautions," Sheppard refuted.

Silence settled over the office again. Blue eyes stared into brown, both willing the other to see their point. An unspoken warning hung heavily about them. If the prisoner made and succeeded in an escape attempt… They would lose the glove.

Along with who knew what else…

"We'll talk about this later," Dr. Weir finally said. "After the debriefing."

Major Sheppard nodded. That was good enough for him. For now.

-------------------------------------------------

**A few hours later…**

"How long has he been like this?"

The marine in charge of the holding cell's current guard shift shrugged unconcernedly. "Since a few minutes after your visit, Sir."

Frowning, Sheppard crossed his arms and peered into the cage. The debriefing had been brief and concise. The conversation afterwards had been neither, but he HAD obtained a green light for evaluating the prisoner's response to the idea. Unfortunately, evaluating a response required that a response existed in the first place. And, for the moment, the prisoner was decidedly unresponsive. To anything.

"He hasn't moved a muscle, Sir."

"Bizarre…" It certainly put a crimp in his plans… "Why now?"

The marine shrugged again, "No clue, Sir."

Major Sheppard cocked his head, observing quietly for a while. Steve was lying on the cell floor, curled loosely on his side, olive eyes closed. The form-fitting chest of his coat accentuated the slight motion of his breathing. A deep, silent, rise and fall, so slow as to be almost imperceptible… The wraith was… Asleep…

Or so it seemed… Tugging open a vest pocket, Sheppard pulled out his life-signs detector. A light blinked a couple meters in front of his position.

Nope. Not hibernating…

But then why hadn't he stirred yet? Every other time Sheppard had visited, the wraith had roused immediately. Almost as if he sensed the Major's presence. The softest sounds woke him. And Sheppard had never seen Steve lying down either, (other than when he was stunned, of course). He usually slept sitting up.

Now he was prone, exposing himself to unobserved approach on three sides. A complete one-eighty to his normally wary dozing posture…

It wasn't like Sheppard was trying to keep a low profile, here. Heck, he wasn't even whispering…

Steve really should've woken up by now.

Unless…

Frown deepening, Major Sheppard circled the cage, keeping his eyes on the captive's face. The pale visage didn't so much as twitch. He stopped by the bars nearest Steve's head. Still no response. He crouched, angling for a better view… Just how much sleep DID wraith need? An amount similar to humans? Less? More?… Carson hadn't had a chance to study that yet. And Steve had seemed tired earlier.

But Sheppard was applying human standards there… Steve was wraith. What meant one thing in a human, could mean something very different in their captive.

Eyes narrowing, Sheppard sat back on his heels and reviewed their earlier conversation. The wraith had been worried about losing concentration. He'd looked tired. He'd fallen into an obvious verbal trap, and he'd said the telepathic signal was, "distracting." He'd also lost control, displaying unease, resignation, and guilt. Signs of weakness that, up until now, he'd been extremely averse to revealing…

Sheppard scratched his chin, eyeing the sleeping wraith. His thoughts turned to the living finger guards. Just how distracting WAS their telepathic signal…?

He tapped his earpiece. "Teyla, this is Sheppard."

"What is it, Major?"

Making no effort to speak quietly, he asked, "You know how you said you can tell when the prisoner is sleeping?"

A short silence, "Yes…" she answered slowly, "He is sleeping now."

"I can see that." So the wraith wasn't faking… Sheppard cleared his throat, "Out of curiosity, Teyla, when was the last time you sensed Steve sleeping?"

Up in Atlantis's gym, Teyla Emmagen froze in the middle of packing her Banta sticks away. "I have not been keeping track of him that closely, Major."

"That's okay. All I want is a guess."

"Very well." Sheppard could practically hear the Athosian frown, "I cannot vouch for when I, myself, am asleep, but…" a pensive pause, "I would say several days. Perhaps a short nap, here and there, but nothing prolonged or deep."

"Several days?" That was long…

"Yes."

"How does three sound?"

Teyla was quiet a moment. Then… "Three sounds about right."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow. His theory was looking likely…

"May I ask the significance of that number?"

"One more question first," Sheppard idly tapped the bars. Steve didn't stir. "How often did he sleep before three days ago?"

In the gym, Teyla resumed putting her sticks away. "A few times every day. Usually two or three hours at a time. It lessened slightly after you gave him the glove."

"I thought you weren't keeping track of him?"

"Not specifically. However, I was initially curious as to what I was sensing. I was able to identify the feeling by matching it to the tapes Dr. Weir lent me."

"I see," Sheppard mused. The unexpected benefits of curiosity…

"And the significance of your number, Major?"

Sheppard's fingers idly tapped the bars again. Still no response. "Three days is how long Dr. Weir left the organic tools down here with him."

Teyla was puzzled, "You think they were keeping him awake?"

The Major shrugged, "It's a possibility." An extremely likely one. "Thank you for your help, Teyla. Your observations are appreciated."

"You are welcome, Major."

"Sheppard out." The radio crackled into silence.

Within the cage, the wraith continued his rhythmic, nearly imperceptible breathing. Sheppard was assailed by an unexpected stab of guilt. Apparently, 'looking tired,' was wraith for, 'on the verge of exhaustion.' He silently cursed the prisoner. Sleep deprivation also fell into the category of cruel and unusual punishment. Sheppard would've never knowingly subjected the wraith to it. But, dammit, Steve should've said something! He could've complained to someone OTHER than Sheppard! Like Ford. Or Bates. Or any of the other guards. They would've passed his message on.

But it would've meant admitting weakness to a subordinate…

Damn the wraith's egocentric stubbornness!

Annoyed and disappointed, Sheppard let go of the bars and pulled himself to his feet, taking a last look at the sleeping captive. From this angle Steve's hair seemed to fan slightly across the floor behind him, emphasizing the loose curl of his body. An ivory splash nestled, in streaking contrast, at the base of a long, black comma…

Major Sheppard turned away, skirted the cell, and crossed to the alcove.

He wouldn't wake Steve now. What was done, was done. The wraith needed rest, and M1X-347's night cycle was long, an astonishing 53.5 hours. That was two days before they could return. Plenty of time for sleep. Plenty of time for debate. And plenty of time for convincing Elizabeth and Rodney to let Steve come. (He was pretty sure Steve would agree to help. All it took was the right motivation…)

Heck, Sheppard could probably squeeze in a mission or two. The food from Earth was running low, but they couldn't replenish it without a ZPM. Atlantis needed Pegasus trading partners. Lips pursing, Sheppard headed upstairs. He distinctly remembered Teyla and Elizabeth discussing a possible source for Tava beans…

-------------------------------------------------

**Meanwhile…**

Elsewhere in the central tower, a few floors below Atlantis's night-dimmed Gateroom, the sharp clatter of persistent tapping echoed in an empty corridor. A weak finger of light issued from an open doorway. Shadows flickered across walls, shifting with the erratic clacking, flitting across banks of quietly whirring servers. LEDs blinked along shelves, changing rows of red, green, orange, and yellow. Tiny stars mapping Atlantis's computer usage. Most of the powerful processors signaled readiness. A few hummed softly, their absent users having programmed them to run throughout the night.

One set, (the most powerful), thrummed loudly in response to the tapping. Cables snaked from its back, arching from machine to machine before disappearing into the black depths of a gaping access panel. Others snaked from its front, coiling and splitting on their way to the input/output ports of the Physics Department's numerous laptops.

Unsurprisingly, given the late hour, only one of those laptops was active.

Alone in Atlantis's computer lab, Dr. Rodney McKay perched on a stool, engrossed in the data scrolling across the flat-screened monitor in front of him. A solitary desk lamp shone doggedly, staving off the night with a bubble of crisp, white light. A full mug and a half-empty coffee pot rested on a counter nearby.

"Huh…"

His right hand danced across the keyboard. The source of the tapping noise…

"…That's odd…"

His left held a not-quite-bursting ham sandwich. That sandwich was currently forgotten, frozen halfway to the puzzled scientist's mouth.

Rodney snorted and frowned thoughtfully. "Okay, how about this…?"

A flurry of tapping. Then…

"Damn." He leaned closer, squinting at the screen. Another dead end. Perhaps a different tactic. "Gonna be tough, are ya? Well, we'll just see about that!" Never challenge a genius. Especially one with a pot of dark roast coffee. "Take this!"

Another flurry of one-handed typing.

The computer beeped.

"Dammit!" Rolling his shoulders, Rodney leaned back. This was getting ridiculous. He glared at the access panel, envisioning the tangle of crystal fibers within. Those fibers led to the heart of Atlantis's central processors. "You're determined to thwart me on this." He grinned and shook a finger at the contrary city, proclaiming, "You won't succeed, my friend. For I am the Resident Genius. And all Resident Geniuses know, there's more than one way to search a security-riddled database."

Remembering his sandwich, he shoved it into his mouth and continued typing.

Dr. McKay had been fighting with Atlantis's database all night. The battle had begun innocently, with a request to view the city's files on M1X-347. A low-level security block had stalled him, but Rodney had bypassed that easily, having seen it's like many times before. His reward was a few details on the planet's atmosphere.

Fascinating stuff. Really fascinating. Especially considering M1X-347's horrendously long night cycle…

No mention of abandoned wraith bases, though.

Disappointed, Dr. McKay had shut everything down and returned to his quarters, intending to go to bed. Sadly, sleep had eluded him. Mind racing with theories and ideas for tackling Bates's wraith pedestal, Rodney had found himself back in the Physics lab, needing something useful to do. Something not involving beads and gloppy fish guts. He'd settled for tweaking the expedition's crystal interface and improving the program they were using to search Atlantis's database. That had gone well.

Searching for information on the flooded laboratory had not.

Apparently the database was smart enough to both recognize new interfaces and apply its original security codes to programs running on foreign operating systems. Even the complicated, high-level security codes…

How brilliantly inconvenient.

And how challenging!

And yet… At the same time… WHY?!!

"What the Hell!" Speaking around a mouthful of bread and ham, Rodney dropped his sandwich on a plate by his elbow and grabbed his mug. "This is ridiculous! It can't be THAT bad!" He took a swig of the cold coffee and twisted on his stool, glaring at the access panel once more. "You just hate me tonight, don't ya?"

The processors stacked by the panel hummed, laboriously filtering Atlantis's crystal energy as they converted it into familiar patterns of electric bytes.

"Yeah, well. That's what I thought you'd say." Muttering, Rodney sloshed his coffee down and attacked the keyboard. This time, using both hands. "Just wait, my friend. You haven't seen anything yet. Anything. Ya hear?"

Determined tapping filled the darkened lab for a while. Then…

"Where the Hell did that come from!!!?" McKay peered at the screen as data poured across it, scrolling almost too fast to follow. "What IS that, anyway?" A flurry of clacking followed by annoyed grumbling. "You can't be serious. There shouldn't BE anymore of those! That was the last one. This doesn't exist, Dammit!"

Talk about security. Geez…

Rodney got up and refilled his coffee mug. Then he leaned against an empty worktable and pondered the interface, cradling the scalding drink in his hands. The expedition's ability to read ancient computers was woefully incomplete. They could use them. They could manipulate them. Heck, they could even alter them.

But they did so slowly. Painstakingly.

The amount of information Atlantis contained was astronomical, but they could only use a small portion at any given time. Earth processors just weren't powerful enough to handle it. Couple that with incredibly complex programming, (courtesy of the ancients), and security light years beyond anything McKay had ever seen, and it was a wonder they could use as many of Atlantis's systems as they did.

Give him another month. Maybe two.

…

Rodney took a sip of java.

…

Okay, maybe a year…

A second sip… The point was, eventually the database would be entirely catalogued. And eventually he'd figure out how to bypass the numerous security levels. Until then, though, analyzing files was done on a case-by-case basis. For example: Searching for the purpose of a specific lab during a specific period of time.

McKay stared at the waiting monitor. Cursors blinked, mockingly.

Hacking files was handled in a similar, prioritized fashion… Lips pursing thoughtfully, Rodney perched on his stool and absently thunked his coffee mug down. Rote repetition of his usual tricks, (ie. mimicking security clearance and circumventing access codes), wasn't working here. He needed a fresh angle. Maybe literally.

Well, metaphorically literally, anyway. (If that was possible.)

He resumed typing.

Whatever had been going on in that lab was seriously secret. The security surrounding it was nuts. A total information blackout. No cracks. No leaks. Not a hint of a trail. He'd never encountered a wipeout so thoroughly implemented before.

He couldn't even find the lab's initial equipment inventory.

"Alright, you stubborn beast. Let's try something new." Rubbing his hands gleefully, Rodney grabbed his sandwich, tore a quick bite off, and began hacking furiously. He had a few sideways approaches left up his sleeves…

Persistent tapping echoed in the Physics Department's night-darkened corridor once more. The scientist was on the hunt. Stalking data. Cornering it. If he couldn't hack a wraith pedestal, this was the next best thing. He'd keep it up 'til the coffee ran out. Oh, yeahhh. And there was still a quarter pot!

"I am Genius. Hear me roar!"

*Beep*

"Oookaay… Maybe not."

Mew.

-------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading! Please review! Again, things I'm working on specifically are: 1. Maintaining a Season 1 feel in the flashback chapters. 2. Keeping the regulars in character.


	11. Chapter 10: Testing the Waters Part 3

I'm afraid I've no excuses for the wait this time other than that this chapter turned out longer than I'd anticipated. Plus, the 2nd half of the 1st section gave me problems. Steve toyed with the idea of going in a certain direction, then at the last minute decided not too. Finicky wraith. Had to rewrite that. Then later Rodney and Dr. Weir started rambling about interesting but unnecessary stuff. Had to trim that out. Then...

Eh, you get the picture.

I've got so much cut stuff now that I'm toying with the idea of doing an 'outtakes' section...

But that would be far in the future! And so, without further ado...

Happy reading!

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.

**Chapter Ten: Testing the Waters - Part Three**

_**3 years, 48 weeks earlier**_

The pink light of an early morning sunrise was illuminating the mess hall's yawning occupants when Major Sheppard got the call saying Steve was awake.

"It's about time!" He thanked Geerman for the update, quickly finished his cereal, and headed down to the holding cell. When he arrived, Sheppard discovered, (to his vast relief), that everything appeared to have returned to normal.

Normal being Steve's typical behavior AFTER he'd received the glove…

The wraith was standing in a far corner of the cell, his back to the alcove, silently watching one of the marines posted along the closest wall. His posture was tall and relaxed, and he showed no sign of noticing his captor's entrance.

Par for the course, then. A decent start…

Nodding to Lieutenant Geerman, Sheppard emerged from the alcove and approached the cell, stalking its occupant slowly. The horizontal shadows slide mysteriously across his face, indulging the wraith's taste for dramatics. Cooperation on a non-glove project was as big a request as voluntarily letting himself be poked by needles. Knowing this, Sheppard wanted Steve in as good a mood as possible. Reaching the bars, he circled the cage, footsteps echoing, gaze fixed on his conspicuously unmoving target… Outwardly tranquil, Steve observed the guard, feigning obliviousness.

Still on par. Maybe leaning towards good…?

Sheppard stopped a few feet away, close enough that the wraith couldn't possibly deny his existence, but far enough that he didn't obstruct his view of Private Douger.

Steve didn't acknowledge his presence.

The Major raised an eyebrow. "Feeling refreshed after your nap?"

Abandoning the guard, the wraith's eyes narrowed lazily and swung their intense focus to Sheppard. His pale face languidly swung with them.

"I am your death," Steve hissed.

Whoa, creepy grin! Extremely Creepy Grin!

The translucent teeth vanished as deliberately as they'd appeared, and Steve's olive-eyed stare swept leisurely back to Douger.

Definitely a good start. Hiding his anticipation, Sheppard smiled flippantly, "I take it that's a, 'Yes?'"

No response. The wraith's posture emanated complacent smugness…

"'Cause you slept for almost thirty-six hours. I'd hate to think it wasn't enough."

Inhaling deeply, Steve flexed his feeding hand. The beads lining the glove's wristband glimmered briefly. "I have nothing new for your Dr. Weir yet, Major Sheppard." He blinked slowly, "Being… indisposed tends to hamper meditation."

Indisposed? Sheppard almost laughed, "Is that what you call it?"

Another slow blink. "A physical necessity. I regret any inconvenience."

The Major resisted the urge to shield his eyes from the glaring insincerity. "Yeah, I bet you do…" He gave a nonchalant shrug, "But I'm not here for memories today."

Still fixated on Douger, the wraith expelled a skeptical chuff, "Not after information. How unexpected. There's a first time for everything, it seems."

"Yeah. You practicing sarcasm is a good example."

Ivory hair swayed as the wraith cocked his head, considering the guard thoughtfully. By now, Private Douger looked distinctly uncomfortable. A smile flickered on Steve's lips, "What do you have in mind, Major Sheppard?"

Sheppard rested his hands on a horizontal bar. "Oh, I don't know…" he leaned forward invitingly, "What would you say to a field trip or two?"

A satisfied hiss filled the holding cell, and Steve swayed towards the bars, finally giving attention to his captor. From the corner of his eye, Sheppard saw Douger visibly relax. "I must confess, I've been getting a little bored in here, Major."

Noting the intensity in the wraith's eyes, Atlantis's military commander made a mental note: Bored wraith equals creepy staring. Ford would be SO happy.

"Perhaps this 'field trip' will involve the flooded lab?"

That was a blatant, multi-tonal hint if Sheppard had ever heard one. "Eventually," he confirmed, "But there'll be a couple stops first."

Steve snorted and stilled, suddenly wary. "Eventually is a relative term." He blinked suspiciously, "Have I not been accommodating recently?"

"Yes, you have," Sheppard agreed, "and Atlantis appreciates the gesture."

The wraith hissed softly, drawing out his next word, "Eventuuaalllly," a sharp chuff, "I will expect reciprocity." Fingers flexing, he rested his hands by Sheppard's. Amber beads glimmered dangerously as he stared challengingly through the bars.

Sheppard met the defiant gaze without blinking.

"Reciprocity must be earned, Steve."

Another hiss. Oval-pupils dilated in the lengthening silence… A minute ticked by. Two… Finally the wraith narrowed his eyes and glanced away.

"What sort of stops?"

Sheppard smiled, relieved by the surrender. He'd been starting to get worried. "Well…" he turned and began walking around the cage. With a rustle of leather, Steve fell into step beside him. "It's been a while since you paid Carson a visit."

"He has not requested any samples lately…"

"That's 'cause he was between projects."

"I see…" Steve's feeding hand trailed lazily along the bar, flirting with the invisible force field. "What aspect of my physiology does he wish to examine now?"

Sheppard shrugged offhandedly, "Nothing special. Just your brain."

A wry snort. "Your Carson has already scanned my brain."

"Yeah, but he hasn't scanned it while the organic tools are active. He wants to find out what they were doing to you."

Steve slowed a few moments. Then he swooped forward, cutting corners to catch up. Black coat panels snapped at his ankles. "You," his smooth voice hesitated, "wish to study the telepathic signals by placing me in close proximity to their source…"

Understanding the implied concerns, Sheppard nodded. "It's more like placing the source in close proximity to you. But… Yeah." Seeing the wraith frown, he quickly dropped the quibbling tone, "Look, Steve. This particular project is strictly voluntary. Refusing won't affect your chances of going to the flooded lab." Elizabeth had been quite firm on that point. "You can stop participating at any time."

Steve's olive eyes searched Sheppard's blue ones. His face tilted quizzically, "And…" his next words were skeptically laden with amusement, "I have your assurance as to the voluntary nature of this project?"

"No," the Major met his gaze seriously, "You have Carson's assurance."

Hissing, Steve slowly blinked, acknowledging the distinction. Then he glanced away, "I must consider this proposal…" The black glove withdrew from the bar, and they walked in silence for several minutes. Major Sheppard studied the ceiling and nodded to the marines they passed. He shot Private Douger a surreptitious wink…

After a while, the wraith's lichen brow furrowed delicately. "If I agree to participate in this project," Steve inquired, "will I be allowed to view the results?"

Sheppard had expected that question. "Seeing as it's YOUR brain being scanned…" He raised an eyebrow, "I don't see why not."

Steve pushed his ivory hair back with a translucent claw and gave a satisfied snort, "In that case," oval pupils slid towards Sheppard, "I will participate."

"Good! I'll tell Carson to reserve a seat for ya."

With a low hiss, Steve swerved closer to the cage's edge. His coat's faceted shoulder glittered as it brushed the nearest horizontal bar. "I take it the second stop on this 'field trip' is more obligatory than the first…?"

Major Sheppard nodded and kept walking. "Yup."

"What would it involve? More tests? Questions?"

"This one's a little bigger than that, Steve."

Pale lips twitched, revealing pointy teeth, "How big, Major Sheppard?"

Seeing the wraith was game, Sheppard poured on the flippancy. "About two stories tall. Round. Wormhole in the middle—" A disgusted growl cut him off. Sheppard sighed, "Fine. It's a trip through the Stargate."

Steve stopped walking and froze. "Leave Atlantis?"

"Yup. Thought you could use a chance to stretch your legs a bit."

A short pause. "And if I refuse?"

Frowning, Sheppard looked back. The wraith held himself rigidly in place, entirely focused on his captor. He did not look happy. He did not look curious. And, most importantly, he did not look cooperative. "Refuse?"

Steve's words snapped bitingly, "Yes, Major. What if I refuse?"

Sheppard's frown deepened. He hadn't expected to encounter resistance this quickly. Turning, he backtracked a step. "Are you refusing?"

Steve expelled a sharp chuff of air and backed up, maintaining the distance between them. "I am not a fool, Major Sheppard."

Sheppard stilled warily. Along the walls, marines shared uneasy glances. "I never said you were, Steve."

"Not in so many words, no!"

Disconcerted, (this was definitely NOT part of his plan), the Major lifted his hands non-threateningly. "Okay, then. In what way did I imply it?"

An irate, "Hiiissssss!" split the air. "The other of my kind! Where is he!?"

Whoa! Subject change! Sheppard shook his head, "I don't see—"

The wraith lunged like lightning, becoming a black and white blur. Light flared blindingly as he crashed into the metal bars by his captor's face. "He LEFT Atlantis with you!" An ear-splitting screech joined the angry snarl as razor-tipped finger guards gouged the silvery barrier. "He LEFT!"

An icy pit formed in Sheppard's stomach as wispy shadows, (tricks of the wraith's mind), coalesced in the holding cell. He understood now. Crap!

Steve abruptly stilled. Blue rippled over the force field as leather and ivory lurched to a halt. "Did you think it escaped my notice that he did NOT COME BACK!?!" Fully-dilated pupils, seething with an angry jumble of unidentifiable emotions, bored into Sheppard. "IT DID NOT!!!" Steve spat.

Flinching, the Major cursed himself. He should've predicted this. "That's an unrelated matter, Steve—"

The wraith hissed dangerously, "Now you expect me to willingly leave Atlantis without even questioning whether I'll return alive?"

"Whoa!" Sheppard mustered his own anger as the inky phantoms darted threateningly at him, "No one said anything about dying!"

"The other of my kind is dead!"

"I never said that!" (He was right, though.) "His fate isn't your concern!"

"Yet it's true!" Steve paused, panting heavily. The phantoms vanished as suddenly as they'd appeared. "He is dead. You would never allow him to escape alive, and I would have sensed his return. You killed him!"

Sheppard snapped his mouth shut. The ungloved knuckles gripping the bar were bone-white, and Steve's glittering shoulders were quivering with barely restrained emotion. The wraith was worried… Maybe even scared.

Best to wait the outburst out.

It was the right tactic. When he stopped responding, Steve spun away, hissing angrily. Retreating to the cage's brightly lit center, he froze under the bluish light, then bowed his head. His arms crossed as he visibly struggled to calm himself. After a few deep breaths, Steve's face lifted. He poised with his customary, eerie stillness.

"What assurance can you give that I will return from your 'field trip' alive?"

Major Sheppard frowned. The wraith's voice was flat and expressionless. Resigned… "Only my word." No response. "Look, Steve…" he circled the cell until he was facing its occupant head on, "I won't force you to go. You want to stay in Atlantis? It can be arranged. Security's against taking you off-world anyway."

Still no response… Stubborn alien!

Sheppard glared, deliberately tingeing his tone with irritation, "If I really wanted to kill you off-world, Steve, would I be standing here, asking you to come quietly?" he didn't wait for a reply, "No! I'd stun your ass! Drag you out of that cell! Kick you through the Gate, and slaughter you at my leisure! None of this 'Song and Dance' crap!"

He stopped to let his words sink in a moment.

In the silence, Steve's green eyes slit open, regarding his captor consideringly.

Finally. "Now, are you interested in hearing what the field trip involves, or not?"

Of all the responses Sheppard had predicted his tirade eliciting, Steve emitting a low, musical chuckle wasn't one of them. (Could wraith even BE musical?)

"Very well, Major Sheppard." The wraith drifted forward, a picture of cooperative pleasantness. "What does this 'field trip' involve?"

"That's better," Sheppard muttered. He rested his hands on a bar and leaned closer. Steve obligingly mirrored the motion. "One of my teams discovered an abandoned wraith facility. One of its computers still has power—"

"You wish me to interface and discover its purpose—"

"And to teach Dr. McKay how."

"Ahhh, yeeessss," Steve smiled smugly, "Your Dr. McKay…"

"Yessss," Sheppard mimicked, "My Dr. McKay." He pursed his lips disapprovingly. "I'll be honest, Steve. You've got yourself a problem there."

The smile faded slightly, "A problem?"

"Yeah," Sheppard frowned seriously. "See, McKay's not terribly happy with you at the moment. In fact, he said he never wanted to speak to you again." He grimaced, loading his voice with false regret, "I think you hurt his feelings."

Steve chuffed softly, olive irises darting away. "I fail to understa—"

"That's gonna make it hard to collaborate."

"Ahhh, I see…" The wraith hissed with pleasure, smiling widely once more. "You wish me to apologize for apologizing—"

"No," Having reviewed the footage of McKay's visit, Sheppard had no desire to even TOUCH that particular vipers' nest. Especially considering Steve's obvious enjoyment of the encounter. His gaze flicked to the wraith's feeding hand. "I want you to play nice and convince McKay to share his notes on that glove with you."

Oval-pupiled eyes narrowed pensively, and Steve pressed forward. His black form curled sinuously against the silvery bars. "What… exactly are you proposing?"

Major Sheppard crossed his arms and leaned closer, putting his face a handbreadth from the wraith's. "If you help with the computer without deliberately offending McKay," he raised an eyebrow warningly, "or making any escape attempts…"

He paused, intentionally drawing out the suspense.

Growling impatiently, Steve chuffed, and the orifices on his cheeks widened slightly. Pupils dilated as the glove's amber beads flared with light.

"Continue…" the word was a breathy hiss.

A cocky smile quirked Sheppard's lips, "I…" he slowly began, "will personally take you," he pointed at the wraith, "on a tour of the flooded lab."

The words had barely left his mouth when Steve barked, "Agreed!" and spun away from the force field. Ivory and black flared triumphantly about his lithe figure as he paced a tight circle. Suddenly, he whirled back to Sheppard, curling against the bars once more. "When do we leave?" Steve's eyes glittered with anticipation.

Sheppard shrugged disinterestedly, "Not sure yet." Leaning away, he glanced ruefully at the ceiling, "First I gotta convince Dr. Weir to let you come."

Accusing silence crashed upon the holding cell. The wraith's lips twisted in dismay as, along the walls, marines gaped in varying degrees of confused shock.

Sheppard merely shrugged. "What? It's not a big deal." Sighing, he looked at Steve, "I'm serious. Dr. Weir will be easy to convince." It was Sergeant Bates and Teyla he was worried about… "We'll probably leave sometime tomorrow." He turned, striding confidently for the alcove. "You just have fun with Carson, Steve."

An irritated hiss followed Sheppard up the stairs, "I expect you to deliver, Major."

Said Major scowled. Why did he suddenly feel jinxed?…

-------------------------------------------------

**A few minutes later…**

"Okaayyy. Who's responsible for that sign?"

"Hmm?" Dr. Weir looked up from her briefing notes. "What sign?"

Standing in her office doorway, Dr. Rodney McKay pointed at the jar of sparkling beads sitting on the side table by his hip and huffed in annoyance. "The 'Give a Penny, Take a Penny' sign. It's obviously a play on my, 'not a penny more, not a penny less,' comment from a few days ago. I demand to know who's making fun of me."

"No one's making fun of you Rodney," Elizabeth said.

"Yeah, McKay. You're being paranoid."

Coming in, Rodney shot Sheppard a suspicious glance. "It was you, wasn't it?"

Sheppard 'pshaww'ed innocently, "Naaah."

"Yes it was! It was you! I know that look!"

From her seat by Weir's desk, Teyla smiled placatingly, "I'm sure Major Sheppard's sign wasn't deliberately intended to offend."

McKay scoffed, "Well, I beg to differ." He pointed accusingly at the crisp, neatly calligraphied card resting by the innocent glass jar. "That's a malicious attempt to rub the Science Department's nose in the latest bead-sifting set back."

Elizabeth frowned wryly, closing her computer, "Ohhh, I wouldn't call it that…"

"Then what would you call it?"

"An artistic statement," Sheppard supplied, "A humorous comment on the ironic nature of life in the Pegasus Galaxy." Seeing Rodney roll his eyes skeptically, he shrugged, "You know. Literary metaphors. Simile. Creative license, and all that."

McKay snorted, "You are SO bull-shitting right now."

Major Sheppard nodded. "Yes, I am."

Standing up, Dr. Weir leaned across her desk, "The sign stays, Rodney." She raised an eyebrow, "Sheppard supplied the words, and when I saw them, the humor inherent in the situation amused me." She smiled, "I printed it up."

Rodney spluttered, "You?! But Elizab—"

"It's much more legible now," Sheppard muttered.

"Yes," Teyla smiled at Dr. Weir, "It looks very nice."

"Thank you, Teyla."

"Yo, guys. Sorry if I'm late." Lieutenant Ford walked in, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "I got held up by Dr. Sheckle's office."

Dr. Weir gestured to a chair, "You're right on time, Lieutenant. Have a seat."

McKay frowned, "What were you doing in Sheckle's off—"

"What's that you got there?" Sheppard craned his neck. Unlike McKay, it had not escaped his notice that Aiden's arms were conspicuously held behind his back.

Ford's Cheshire grin widened. The Lieutenant stepped forward, proudly revealing a tall, delicately worked, glass. Almost a foot high, it looked like a cross between a cocktail bowl and a martini cup. "Dr. Sheckle sends her compliments."

"I do NOT believe this," Rodney griped.

Someone had filled the top of the crystal vessel with a few handfuls of ancient beads. They'd then garnished the pile with the organic finger guards.

"Looks like a bowl of raw, shelled shrimp and caviar…" Sheppard muttered.

Rodney clapped a hand over his mouth, "Oh my God, you're right."

Teyla Emmagen looked at Sheppard and McKay quizzically, "What is caviar?"

"Raw fish eggs," Sheppard mused. He cocked his head consideringly, "See, it's the combination of sparkly orange spheres and grey, jointed curves that does it…"

"Must you be so explicit?" whined McKay, "That's disgusting,"

Holding it by its stem, Aiden carefully set his prize on Dr. Weir's desk. "Mira says it's another two gloves worth. The uh, can-openers were my idea."

"Why am I not surprised…" Elizabeth murmured. Smiling appreciatively, she pulled the oddly garnished crystal towards her. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I'll add the beads to the Penny jar later." She nodded towards the chairs, and Ford sat.

"Aww," McKay moaned, "Please don't name it that…"

"Too late," Sheppard quipped.

Sliding the glass to the side a bit, so she could see everyone, Dr. Weir sat. "Well, now that we're all here… Let's get started, shall we?" She rested her elbows on her desk, looking at Rodney. "Dr. McKay, I believe you found something."

Remembering their meeting's purpose, the scientist quickly brightened. "Yes! I did. Indirectly, that is." He grinned, hugging his data-pad, "I came upon it, in fact, in a very bizarre, roundabout fashion. It was very clever, if I do say so m—"

"Your discovery, Rodney," Elizabeth hinted.

"Okay, all right. The flooded lab." Eyes bright, Dr. McKay surveyed his captive audience. "As you know, I've been trying to extract and decode information relating to the glove from Atlantis's database. And, as you also know, until now, I've be woefully unsuccessful—"

"Is that what the lack of progress reports meant?" remarked Sheppard.

"Ha ha. Very funny."

Elizabeth looked at Sheppard warningly.

"Anyway, I finally identified a part of the database which I'm pretty sure contains information related to projects that were based in the glove-lab's section of the city. And, in the process of trying to decode that information, I learned something interesting." Rodney paused, obviously cueing an interactive response.

Teyla supplied it, "What did you learn, Dr. McKay?"

"What do you mean 'TRYING to decode?'" interrupted Sheppard.

"I'm getting to that!" Huffing in annoyance, Dr. McKay set his data-pad on an empty chair and straightened, "What I learned was this: Whatever was going on in that lab was classified. Highly. And I don't mean High high. I mean Super high."

Lieutenant Ford frowned, "How high is Super high?"

"Yeah, Rodney. I'm not familiar with that clearance level."

Rodney rolled his eyes long-sufferingly, "It's high. Look, try thinking of it this way," he raised his hands, gesturing for emphasis, "If ancient security levels were a color spectrum, with reds being lowest and blues and purples being highest," he paused to verify everyone was listening, then quickly pointed at the ceiling, "This would fall somewhere in the upper-ultraviolet range."

Dr. Weir pursed her lips, impressed, "That's high."

"Yeah, Super high," Sheppard quipped.

"That's what I said," McKay griped, "Why must I constantly repeat myse—"

Elizabeth cut him off, thoughtfully fingering the base of the crystal, "What exactly does this ultraviolet level mean?"

Dr. McKay blinked, momentarily derailed, "I beg your pardon?"

"How many people had this clearance, Rodney?"

"Oh, um…" he fidgeted, trying to regain his train of thought, "Not very many. One or two, maybe? Outside the project, that is… Of course, the people actually working on it had it too. But other than them, like, no one—"

"No one?" Dr. Weir frowned, "Not even their government?"

"Like I said. One or two people at the very top. No more."

"Sorta like a President, Vice-President only kinda thing," supplied Ford.

"Exactly," McKay announced, "Which brings me to—"

"Forgive me, Dr. McKay," Teyla Emmagen leaned forward in her chair, confused, "Why the need for such secrecy? If, as the glove's ability suggests, the ancients were trying to change the way wraith feed, would they not have wanted people to know? Surely it would have won them allies. Possibly… even a ceasefire…?"

Lieutenant Ford glanced at Dr. Weir, "That's a good point, Ma'am."

Dr. Weir nodded pensively, "It does seem a bit odd."

"Naah, it makes sense," interrupted Sheppard, "They were collaborating with a living wraith. That HAD to be unpopular. They'd lost the entire galaxy to these guys. The presence of a non-POW enemy in Atlantis would've been… Divisive."

"So, it's a controversial project," Chuckling, Lieutenant Ford shrugged dismissively, "but it was a success, right? Why not bring it out in the open?"

"Technically," McKay interjected, "We don't know how successful it was."

The four of them exchanged confused looks.

"The glove works, Rodney," Elizabeth pointed out.

"Yeah, it's feeding Steve right now," added Sheppard.

McKay heaved an exasperated sigh, "For all we know, that glove took centuries to develop. Plus, we've no idea what sort of resources went into making it. It could be totally impractical. I mean, they might've had to destroy an entire sun."

Ford gave a low whistle, "That's definitely impractical…"

"I doubt the ancients would've gone that far," Weir frowned.

"Yeah, but the wraith mi—"

"Look!" Annoyed, Dr. McKay flapped his hands in frustration, "This is all idle speculation. Can we go back to discussing what we DO know?"

"But we don't actually KNOW anything!" Sheppard griped.

"If you'd let me finish giving my report, you WOULD!" Seeing he had everyone's attention once more, Rodney clapped his hands together. "Now, as I was saying, the rarity of this Super high, ultraviolet security clearance means I've never run into it before. And the fact that it's ancient," he paused to emphasis 'ancient,' "Super high, ultraviolet security means it's ridiculously hard to crack. Now—"

"So that's what, 'TRYING to decode,' meant."

Rodney rolled his eyes, "Yes, Major. I've been TRYING to crack the ultraviolet security, which, I might add, was specifically designed to keep ancient hackers out."

"So you haven't actually seen any of the files yet," Dr. Weir clarified.

"No," McKay snapped, "I haven't—"

"Then how can you KNOW anything?" Ford asked.

Rodney just stared at him.

"Sorry…"

"As I was saying," McKay said with a huff, "When I realized searching for the flooded lab files directly was impractical—"

"Meaning you realized you couldn't get in," Sheppard quipped.

"—I started searching for files related to the lab's location. Inventory lists, P.I space allotments, repair and maintenance requests, etcetera."

Teyla leaned towards Sheppard in confusion, whispering, "What is a P.I.?"

"Principal Investigator," he murmured, "Someone in charge of a research project." Nodding thanks, she refocused on Rodney.

"Unfortunately," McKay continued, "Those files were inaccessible."

"You mean, they were also classified?" Dr. Weir guessed.

"Either that or purged. Believe it or not, I couldn't get close enough to tell." The scientist 'hmmph'ed in annoyance, "It was quite frustrating, actually." Staring into space, he snapped back to reality with a grin, "But I found a way around that. And before you ask," he quickly added, seeing Sheppard's mouth open, "by, 'found a way around that,' I mean I searched for lab related things they hadn't thought to classify."

Dr. Weir clasped her hands on her desk with interest. "Such as…?"

Rodney rocked forward on the balls of feet, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. "Programs!" he announced happily. "I searched for programs and subroutines involving Atlantis's infrastructure in and around the lab in question."

Lieutenant Ford looked at him in confusion, "How does that help?"

"By knowing what the city was doing, I can infer what was happening inside it."

"You mean like, analyzing power consumption."

Rodney nodded, "Along with monitoring system activation and various other variables, yes."

Understanding the concept, if not the technical details, Teyla smiled encouragingly, "And what did you find, Dr. McKay?"

"Yeah, Rodney," Sheppard smirked, "What do we KNOW?"

McKay shot him an annoyed glance. The Major blinked innocently.

"What we KNOW is this," Dr. McKay said, turning to Elizabeth. He pointed at the floor in a vaguely East pier-ish direction. "That wraith corpse liquefying in a bag in Dr. Beckett's morgue?" his gaze swept the room, touching on each teammate meaningfully, "He's supposed to be alive."

"Alive?" Aiden blurted.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," McKay stated.

Dr. Weir frowned, "How do you know?"

"Atlantis's failsafe program." Seeing the others' blank faces, Rodney huffed, "The program designed to sink and ultimately raise the city. It originally contained a subroutine dealing with the flooded lab."

"What sort of subroutine," Elizabeth asked.

"One dealing with power management," the scientist crossed his arms importantly, "See, that lab was originally supposed to remain partially awake, drawing power at a rate ten times higher than the rest of the city. When Atlantis's ZedPMs reached a certain level of depletion, it was supposed to wake up completely."

"Reviving the wraith so he could leave," Dr. Weir guessed.

"Or continue his research," Ford added.

"Unlikely," Rodney sniffed, "Without ancients, the city wouldn't work for him."

Sheppard pursed his lips, "So the ancients always intended to let him go. Huh…" He shrugged dismissively, "Well, we know he wasn't a prisoner now."

"But then, why didn't he leave before they sank the city?" asked Ford.

"Perhaps he was a prisoner," Teyla suggested, "And the Ancestors were simply unwilling to let their discoveries be lost if they did not return?"

"Or he stayed behind to guard the lab," Elizabeth said. "We know the ancients originally intended to return to Atlantis. Maybe he decided to wait for them?"

McKay snorted disdainfully, "Given the ridiculous number of beads Dr. Sheckle has found, and the distinct lack of gloves, I'm guessing it's the latter. Think about it. Wraith are virtually immortal. The idea of taking a millennia-long nap while waiting for his collaborators to return probably didn't bother him—"

"Assuming he was assured of waking up from that nap," Weir interjected.

"Which, supposedly, he was."

"But he DIDN'T wake up," observed Ford. "He's goo!"

"Yes," McKay agreed dryly, "he's goo. Thank you Mr. Descriptive."

"Well, why is he goo?" Major Sheppard snapped, "What went wrong?"

Rodney's lips quirked in ironic amusement, "Believe it or not, the ultraviolet security went wrong."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, "How so?"

"Shortly before the city sank, someone modified the failsafe program." Before anyone could interrupt, McKay switched to lecture mode and elaborated, "From what I've gleaned from a few of the changes they made, I believe they were trying to increase efficiency in order to lengthen the life of the city. However, whoever was doing this obviously didn't have ultraviolet security clearance, because they didn't realize the importance of keeping power levels high in the flooded lab—"

"They cut the power?" Dr. Weir's eyes widened, slightly horrified.

"Slashed it," Rodney confirmed. "By 98%. Left just enough for the wraith's stasis pod. And that was only left 'cause Atlantis wouldn't LET them take it." He shook his head in disgust, "When the ZedPMs' depletion reached critical, the subroutine kicked in, like it was supposed to. However, with the new, totally inadequate power allotments…" Rodney raised his hands, fingers starbursting in a quick, jazz-hands motion, "Bzzzzt! Stasis pod turns bug-zapper. Everything shorted. I suspect the resulting, uncontrolled power surge caused a chain reaction that sweep the area, eventually taking out that section of Atlantis's shields."

"Let me get this straight," Elizabeth frowned, "You're saying, this last minute power-cut both killed the wraith AND caused the lab to flood in the first place?"

"As I said. Bzzzzt!" Repeating the hand motion, McKay added an exploding sound to the end of it. "Bug-zapper. Surge. Whhooooshhhh…"

"In other words," Sheppard interjected, "Yeah."

Lieutenant Ford was confused, "But why there? Why not cut power elsewhere?"

Mckay sighed, "They DID cut power elsewhere. They cut power everywhere. But, seeing as the wraith's lab was the largest, apparently extraneous waste—"

"It was one of the first things targeted," Sheppard finished.

"Exactly. And it was hit hardest."

Listening to this exchange, Teyla frowned slightly. "Forgive me if I am misunderstanding something. But would not this ultraviolet security have prevented unauthorized personnel from altering the flooded lab's settings?"

"That's a good point," Dr. Weir looked at McKay expectantly.

Murmuring agreement, Ford and Sheppard followed suit.

Rodney gave a short laugh, "You'd think that, wouldn't you? Unfortunately, whoever was meddling with Atlantis's power systems knew their stuff. They went straight to the mainframe. Bypassed security completely." He grimaced, suddenly sounding miffed, "Of course, they erased every conceivable trace of how they did it, so I've no way of duplicating the feat." He scowled, "Sneaky bastard…"

"Sneaky ANCIENT bastard," Sheppard corrected.

Rodney's scowl deepened.

At her desk, Dr. Weir 'hmmm'ed and fingered the crystal cup's stem. "Do we know why this mysterious ancient wanted to lengthened the submergence of Atlantis?"

"No." McKay's miffed scowl became an irritated grimace, "All we know is that the changes were last-minute, haphazard, and recklessly executed."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, "I see…"

Apparently done with the spotlight, Dr. McKay snagged his data-pad from his chair and sat. "That's it for me." Sheppard looked at him in surprise. "What? I don't hog the spotlight ALL the time." He shrugged, "Just most of it."

"Coulda fooled me," Lieutenant Ford muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

While Rodney 'hmmph'ed and switched his data-pad on, Dr. Weir tapped her fingers together and glanced at the assembled teammates. "Any other thoughts on this discovery?" Sheppard and Ford both shook their heads.

"Not at the moment, Dr. Weir," Teyla Emmagen respectfully said.

"Well, then," Elizabeth continued, "Was there anything else we needed to discuss before SGA-1's next briefing?"

Waiting for this, Major Sheppard shot his hand up, "Prisoner's awake."

"'Bout time," Rodney grumbled.

Elizabeth looked at him meaningfully, "Have you had a chance to talk with him?"

In lieu of answering, Sheppard pointed at the tall glass and its pile of sparkly, caviar-esque, can-opener-garnished beads. "Carson's gonna need those shrimp soon. Steve agreed to be his guinea pig."

Weir frowned, surprised, "Just like that?" Given the wraith's prior experience with the activated, organic tools, she'd expected him to refuse Beckett's request.

"Well, I sorta had to promise that he'd get to view the data."

Elizabeth's lips quirked in sarcastic amusement, "Really? How generous of you."

Confused, Teyla glanced from Dr. Weir to her team leader, "Did Carson not say he already intended to share that information with the prisoner?"

"Yeah," Major Sheppard grinned, "But Steve didn't know that."

Rodney smirked, "You are evil."

"Damn straight. Oh, and Ford?" Sobering, Sheppard turned to his Lieutenant, "The creepy staring is back. Just a warning before your next guard shift."

"Thank you, Sir. I appreciate the heads up."

Clasping her hands, Dr. Weir leaned forward across her desk. She caught Sheppard's eye. "What about that other thing you were going to ask the prisoner?"

"Huh?" Dr. McKay looked startled, "What other thing?"

Sheppard played dumb, "Yeah, what other thing?"

Elizabeth's eyebrows lifting meaningfully.

"Oh. THAT other thing." Major Sheppard cleared his throat, "He agreed to that too. But," he crossed his arms, stating pleasantly, "I have to give him a tour afterwards."

McKay sniffed disdainfully, "A tour?"

Sitting straighter, Ford shifted warily, "What sort of tour, Sir?"

"A tour of the flooded lab."

Dr. McKay's eyes widened in outraged disbelief. "You promised a WRAITH a tour of the flooded lab!?"

Voice calm, Sheppard glared at McKay defensively, "Yes, I did."

"Well, what the HELL did you do THAT for!?"

"I believe," Teyla interrupted, "that what Dr. McKay wishes to know—" Rodney snorted derisively, causing the Athosian to shoot him a disapproving glance, "—is why you would consider taking such a risk." Teyla's brown eyes regarded the Major expectantly. "What has the prisoner offered to warrant such a concession?"

Sheppard met Teyla's gaze seriously. Her tone was cool, saying she was thoroughly against the idea, but apparently she was diplomatic enough to give him the benefit of the doubt. Nodding his gratitude for the courtesy, Sheppard addressed the group. "Steve has graciously agreed to accompany SGA-1 to M1X-347."

"Take him OFF-WORLD? Are you NUTS!? WHY would you—"

"AND," Sheppard raised his voice over Rodney's protests, "he's agreed to access the wraith outpost's computer for us." He looked pointedly at the furious scientist, "AND, I'm sure that if you asked Steve nicely—"

"Like HELL I will!"

"—He'd be willing to show you how to interface Earth tech. with it."

Unwillingly enticed by the concept, Dr. McKay snapped his mouth shut.

Lieutenant Ford glanced at his commander, "I assume you've thought this through, Sir…" he trailed off uncertainly.

"Yes, I have." Sheppard looked at Ford expectantly, "But…?"

Ford fidgeted uncomfortably, "What about escape attempts?"

"Good question. Normally my answer would be, 'That's what stunners are for.' However…" Major Sheppard turned to Elizabeth. "Obviously I can't know everything going on in Steve's head. But, having taken into account his eagerness to see the lab, I'm reasonably confident we won't have to worry about escape attempts."

Privately agreeing, Dr. Weir frowned, "'Reasonably' confident?"

"95%," he clarified.

"And the other 5%?"

Sheppard smiled, "That's what stunners are for."

Aiden chuckled while Rodney snorted in reluctant amusement.

"I do not wish to be a part of this."

All eyes turned to Teyla. In unison, they widened with shock. The Athosian was shaking her head, and her toffee complexion was noticeably paler than it'd been a minute ago. "I understand we can learn much from the prisoner. But we could also lose much. Every second that wraith is out of his cell is a risk. He is dangerous."

Major Sheppard sobered instantly. He'd been expecting reticence from the Pegasus native, but not this. Not fear… Scooting his chair close, he touched Teyla's arm reassuringly, "It'll be fine, Teyla. Like Ford said, I've thought this out thoroughly. Steve will have eight marines on him. He'll be surrounded by stunners at all times."

"That is not the point," Teyla frowned. Her gaze swept from Sheppard to Weir and back, then to Ford and Rodney, imploring. "He is WRAITH—"

"Ah!" McKay interrupted, "But a well-FED wraith! That makes him safer."

"I don't think it works that way, McKay," muttered Aiden.

"No!" Teyla agreed, "If anything, it is the opposite."

"Well, I suppose there's the regeneration boost—"

Dr. Weir silenced the tactless scientist with a glance, then looked at Teyla appeasingly, "What about Major Sheppard's plan worries you, Teyla?"

"The fact that we are having this discussion about a wraith," the Athosian's voice was thick with disbelief, "Have you all forgotten what he is?"

"No," Elizabeth firmly shook her head, "he's a prisoner who possesses valuable information. And who may be the key to understanding an alien species."

Teyla closed her eyes, her expression pained, "No, he is WRAITH."

"He's a CURIOUS wraith," Sheppard corrected, "And he's restrained."

Upset, Teyla breathed deeply, focusing on the ceiling, "He may be curious, gloved, and well-fed, but he is still wraith. He cannot be trusted."

"And we're not trusting him." Standing, Elizabeth moved out from behind her desk and crouched by Teyla's chair. "Extensive precautions are being taken to ensure the protection of personnel who have contact with the prisoner." Her voice lowered, radiating calm and sincerity, "I understand your concerns, Teyla. Please don't think that I've forgotten that the prisoner tried to feed on you when you first met."

Teyla closed her eyes, visibly composing herself.

While they waited, Sheppard frowned, remembering the icy horror of recovering from an explosion only to see Steve skillfully subduing the Athosian. He pictured the dark form sinking to the grass, kneeling, drawing its arm back in preparation for slamming the deadly feeding hand down on her chest. It'd been a chilling sight.

He didn't blame Teyla for wanting nothing to do with the wraith.

"I appreciate your concern, Dr. Weir," Teyla's eyes reopened, warm yet unreadable, "But the events of the prisoner's capture are in the past. I am simply uncomfortable with the idea of giving him too much leeway."

"And of being in his presence," Elizabeth murmured. "I know you haven't taken advantage of the few opportunities you've had to visit the holding cell."

Teyla's face dipped sadly in acknowledgment, "That too…" Hesitating, she shook her head, smiling self-deprecatingly, "To one who has not grown up with the fear, hearing stories of the wraith… It must seem silly—"

"No," Sheppard interrupted, "It doesn't."

Lieutenant Ford broke his silence, "Yeah, Steve gives me the willies."

Taking a cue from Ford, Dr. McKay added, "If it weren't for the insufferable surge of scientific curiosity, I wouldn't even ENTERTAIN the notion."

"And I wouldn't consider supporting said 'notion' if I didn't have confidence in Major Sheppard's ability to safely control the situation," finished Dr. Weir.

"I see…" Moved by everyone's support, Teyla frowned pensively.

Sensing the Athosian needed space, Elizabeth returned to her desk. Quiet settled over the office as Sheppard and Ford waited for their friend to sort her thoughts out. Unsure of what to do, Dr. McKay fidgeted uncomfortably with his data-pad.

Finally Teyla reached a decision. "I too have faith in Major Sheppard's abilities," she admitted. Turning, she nodded to Dr. Weir, "If you truly believe the prisoner should be taken advantage of in this way, I will accept your judgment. However," her gaze swept her teammates apologetically, "I must ask you to do this mission without me."

"Shouldn't be a problem," McKay shrugged.

Ford grinned, "Hey, no hard feelings. We'll tell ya all about it."

Sheppard winced, knowing what he had to say wouldn't be received well, "Ummm, actually… It's not as simple as that."

In the silence that followed Sheppard's words, Dr. McKay blinked. Then…

"What do you mean, NOT that simple!?"

"Yeah. Why can't she stay behind?"

"What if I wanted to stay behind?!"

"I'm sorry," interrupted Teyla, "But I do not understand the problem."

Seeing Dr. Weir give a slight nod, Major Sheppard mussed his hair and reluctantly elaborated, "You're one of my security precautions."

Teyla lifted an eyebrow, "A security precaution?"

Sheppard nodded, "I promised Sergeant Bates I'd take you, and if you don't come, we can't run this mission."

At the mention of the security chief, her expression darkened, "First I am a security risk. Now, a precaution. How is this possible, Major?"

Dr. McKay's eyes widened, "It's her ability to sense the wraith, isn't it?"

"Yes," Major Sheppard confirmed.

"But we shouldn't need that on M1X-347," Ford said, "It's uninhabited. There's no reason for the wraith to show up."

Rolling his eyes, McKay snorted scornfully, "Except for the abandoned WRAITH base, NO."

"But it's abandoned—"

"Like I said," Sheppard stated calmly, "It's a precaution." Smiling seriously, he turned to Teyla, "We need you to come because, if the wraith show up— Which I admit is extremely unlikely, given the state of the base—"

"I can alert you to their presence," Teyla sounded far from thrilled.

"Not JUST alert us to their presence," The Major leaned forward intently, "You can alert us instantly. That way we can stun Steve before he betrays our position."

"Assuming I sense them before he does."

Dr. Weir intervened, "The point is, Teyla. That you're the only person on this base who can, in any way, offset the prisoner's telepathic advantage."

Firmly supporting Bates on this matter, Sheppard held a hand up, "We won't force you to come, but we won't go forward without you."

The Athosian was torn, "I do not wish to delay progress—"

"You wouldn't be," McKay said, "Whatever I might learn from Steve, I'm sure I'd figure out on my own anyway. It's more like deciding not to speed progress up."

"Is that not the same thing?"

"No. Very different."

Teyla shook her head, unconvinced, "That may be, but I do not wish to hold Atlantis back." Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, steeling herself for her next words. "I will go. But… I am not comfortable with this." Opening her eyes once more, she faced her friends with resolve. "I will need time to get used to the idea."

Major Sheppard looked at Teyla with respect. "Take all the time you need."

"I assure you, there's no rush," Dr. Weir added.

"Yeah," Aiden grinned. "Let Steve cool his heels a bit."

"We can't go back to M1X-347 for another twenty-one hours anyway," McKay quipped. He glanced about, muttering, "Stupid nocturnal predators…"

Relieved by her teammates' accepting responses, Teyla smiled. "Hopefully it will not take that long. I will endeavor to keep our current schedule."

Pleased with the relatively smooth resolution of the Steve matter, Elizabeth clasped her hands and rested her elbows on her desk. "Well. Seeing as Teyla is willing to accompany us to M1X-347, I see no reason to withhold authorization for the project any longer." She nodded at Sheppard, "You have permission to proceed, Major."

Major Sheppard smiled cockily, "Thank you, Dr. Weir."

"Now, are there any other concerns or questions relating to the prisoner or the flooded lab?" A quartet of negatively shaking heads was the expedition leader's answer. "Very well. Let's go on to the original debriefing, then…" Hooking her wavy hair behind her ears, she picked a folder off her desk and opened it.

"So," Dr. Weir said, smiling wryly. "Tava beans…"

-------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading! Please review! Again, things I'm working on specifically are: 1. Maintaining a Season 1 feel in the flashback chapters. 2. Keeping the regulars in character.


	12. Chapter 11: Testing the Waters Part 4

Okay... Really long wait. But really long chapter. I'll try to be better, (the next one should be short...ish), but the school year started, so my job restarted, and we're short-staffed so I can't go onto my regular, lighter schedule until we hire more people. Oh well. Rest assured, I intend to keep plogging away, following the plot.

I feel like I've barely scratched the surface of what I've got planned. O.O

P.S. For the record, I had way to much fun geeking out in this chapter. Though I fudged a bunch, (no PhD here), I tried to mix it with a healthy dose of real science... ;)

Happy reading!

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.

**Chapter Eleven: Testing the Waters - Part Four**

_**3 years, 48 weeks earlier**_

"There now. 'At's the last one." Dr. Beckett stepped back to admire his handiwork. "How do ye feel? Are they comfortable enough?"

Seated on the bed before him, Steve blinked and slid his slitted eyes towards Carson. "As comfortable as can be expected." He glanced away, staring forward once more. "Their application is adequate."

"Oh," a bit crestfallen, Beckett gave a little shrug, "Well, tha's all right then." With a quick gesture, he beckoned his technicians over, "Let's get started, shall we?"

The wraith breathed a low, satisfied hiss. "Yesss…"

Like a well-oiled machine, Atlantis's infirmary staff swarmed around Steve's cot, rolling into place and setting up the scanners and displays that would be used in today's experiment. Lieutenant Geerman and the six marines on guard duty stepped back to make room for the increased activity, positioning themselves behind the bed and at strategic points along the perimeter outlined by the equipment. Though decked out in full military regalia, (TAC vests, extra guns, ammo, etc…), they held their stunners in a relaxed, yet vigilant, manner. It'd become apparent immediately upon the prisoner's arrival that his escort's weapons were unlikely to be used today.

The wraith was being extremely cooperative, remaining virtually motionless throughout the extensive preparations. An island of tranquility in a sea of nervous excitement, he'd held perfectly still while techs took samples and helped Carson affix and wire a complex array of electrodes to his forehead. He'd obeyed all instructions to 'turn this way' or 'lift that arm' to the letter, all while carefully avoiding making sudden movements, and every aspect of his demeanor, from relaxed posture to softly whispered replies, suggested he was trying to put his attendants at ease. He was even sitting hunched forward so shorter personnel didn't have to stretch to reach him.

Dr. Beckett was impressed by Steve's patience. He'd been enduring the medical staff's warily fussy ministrations for half an hour, and the only remotely hostile thing he'd done had been to direct a disgusted snarl and death glare at a technician who'd suggested that cutting his hair would make attaching electrodes easier.

Needless to say, that recommendation was soundly rejected. An improvised headband had taken the place of localized spot shaving.

"Let's bring tha' one over 'ere…" Accepting a cable from Dr. Kaile, who'd just finished wiring three electrodes on the back of Steve's head to it, Carson deftly looped the cord behind the wraith and plugged it's triple leads into his recently-modified Electroencephalograph. "There," he smiled and clapped his hands, turning to survey the rest of his crew, "Ah'm done 'ere. How's everyone else?"

Getting a chorus of 'I'm done's and a few thumbs up in response, Dr. Beckett rubbed his hands together in anticipation, "Excellent. Let's start this monster up."

He flicked the Electroencephalograph's switch.

Behind him on the cot, Steve jerked his head up, letting out a sharp chuff of surprise. His olive eyes screwed shut as the array of machines hummed to life.

Noting with concern that his charge's fingers were fisting in the sheets, Carson signaled the technicians to stop the boot-up process. "Is everythin' all right? Did ah hurt ye?" The machines shouldn't have. They were all supposedly safe. Completely non-invasive…

Breathing in shallow snorts, the wraith blinked his eyes open. "I am fine," he huffed. "Your devices simply startled me. They were unexpectedly…" pausing, he softly hissed, as if searching for the right word. "Loud…"

"Loud?" Carson glanced at the humming equipment. It was audible, yes. But loud? "Is yer hearing really tha' acute, then?"

Steve growled, obviously frustrated, and snapped, "Not loud! They are—" another growl, this one irritated. He started over. "Their energy is… Intense."

"Their energy?" Feeling like a parrot, Carson looked back at Steve, his eyebrows climbing in confusion. "Wha' energy? Ye mean like, the electrical kind?"

Ignoring the question, the wraith deliberately unclenched his fingers and leaned forward, resuming his original position. "Continue activating your devices."

Dr. Beckett ignored him back, thoughtfully surveying the collection of wires trailing from Steve's temples. The cables snaking behind his hips… The equipment was passive in nature, but relied heavily on fluctuations in electrical current. All those wires were live. Electricity was running all around the wraith, flowing down his long coat, racing over his shoulders and across his lean chest. If it'd been light, the dark form would've been practically glowing with it. If the wraith could sense that…

Turning, Steve looked at the Scotsman impatiently. Dislodged by the move, an electrode wire that'd shifted when he leaned forward, swung down, sliding across his ivory hair and gently brushing his cheek. Flinching, Steve snapped his face away with a chuff and quickly pushed the wire back. As his pale hand delicately dropped to the his side, Carson's eyes widened. The mysterious orifice on Steve's touched cheek had contracted, narrowing to a thin, barely visible slit. As he watched, it slowly widened, gradually returning to its usual size.

Grinning, Carson gave an astonished laugh, "Ye ARE sensing the electrical field!" A murmur of interest rippled through the infirmary. Every technician and nurse within earshot stopped what he or she was doing to listen.

"Can ye sense magnetic energy too?"

Steve's answer was a frosty, enigmatic stare.

Undeterred, Dr. Beckett laughed again, "Ah wager ye can! Those two energies are closely related." Eyeing the cables crisscrossing Steve's chest, he grasped one and carefully pulled it over the black coat's glittering shoulder. "Dr. Kaile, would ye kindly give me a hand wi' these?"

"Of course." The tow-headed woman abandoned her display and came over.

"Ah want to get 'em away from his face as much as possible. 'At's a good lass." Working together, the pair carefully rearranged the wires, piling them behind the wraith and drawing them back, hooking them over the pointed epaulets of his coat.

Resigned to the new delay, Steve held perfectly still, watching the activity through passively narrowed eyes. Just like he had for the last half hour…

A few minutes later, finally satisfied with the new arrangement, Kaile stepped back, and Carson ordered his team to finish booting up. The doctors watched their patient closely as displays flickered to life.

"Is tha' better?" Carson asked.

The wraith's lichen nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply. "Perhaps." Olive irises slid sideways, fixing on Dr. Beckett. "Either way, I have adjusted."

Ungrateful li'le bugger. "Ah see." Carson shrugged. Steve appeared more comfortable, at least… "Okay. Let's get the calibrations out o' the way."

Keyboards clicked as the technicians quickly ran through scanner diagnostics and double-checked their baseline settings. Dr. Kaile returned to her display.

In the ensuing quiet, Carson attempted to make small talk. "So. Steve…" he was examining the Electroencephalograph, "How sensitive are those organs on yer cheeks?" A low hiss issued from the cot. He checked the machine's input. It appeared to be reading the electrodes properly, "Can ye detect the electromagnetic fields given off by—"

An impatient chuff interrupted him. "Your line of inquiry is irrelevant."

"Ah beg to differ. Yer senses are incredibly interestin' to us—"

"Understanding them is not required for this brain scan."

Carson heard the rustle of leather, "Perhaps not, but—"

"What does this device do?"

Straightening his lab coat, Carson shot the cot a disbelieving glance, then suppressed a sigh. Like switching a light switch, Steve's bored, dismissive tone had turned bright. Almost pleasant. He'd twisted to face Carson and was staring at the Electroencephalograph with open curiosity. The doctor inwardly grimaced. Apparently his electric field conversation was over… Oh well. Maybe next time.

"It detects brain waves."

The pale face tilted quizzically, as far as the electrodes let it. "How?"

"Well, it's an Electroencephalograph. Eeg for short." Stepping over a bundle of cords, Dr. Beckett crossed to the wraith's side and gestured at the electrodes decorating his head. "The electrodes detect minute changes in yer brain's electrical activity an' send 'em to the Eeg. The Eeg records the changes an' converts 'em into visual data." He tossed an arm out, sweeping it past the rest of the array, "It shares tha' data wi' the other machines, which take wha' they need an' in turn share their data with tha'."

Carson pointed to an inconspicuously blinking grey box. "Tha' compiles everythin'." He grinned proudly, "Takes all the different types o' data—"

"What other data?" Steve hissed softly, eyeing the various devices.

"Oh," momentarily derailed, Beckett glanced at the equipment, "Well…" he indicated a computer monitor that Zelenka had spliced into the Eeg cables, "'At one triangulates the location of electrical activity. Tha' one," he indicated a big, flat screen spliced into an ancient console, "measures blood flow in the brain. Very useful for locatin' tumors, tha'. Usually requires an extensive setup, but," Carson grinned, indicating the ancient console, "thanks to tha' beast, it's a lot more efficient now."

The wraith expelled a short chuff of air, eyeing the ancient device warily. "And what does 'that beast' do…?"

"Takes pictures o' the inside o' yer brain."

Olive irises darted, scanning the floor around 'the beast.' Steve's mouth twitched with a snort, "It is not connected to the Eeg device…"

"Ehh, no." Carson pursed his lips. "It's more sophisticated 'an tha'."

"Howww…?" the multi-toned voice trailed off as Steve tracked the pair of sparkling cables emerging from the ancient scanner's base.

Carson shrugged, "Honestly? Ah don' know how it works. It just does. An' frankly, it's been on this whole time." Steve's gaze snapped to his face accusingly. "Don' look at me like 'at. It's perfectly safe."

A disgruntled hiss. "As far as YOU know."

"Believe me. Ah know." All the studies on Earth, up until the time the expedition had left, had shown ancient medical equipment to have no side-effects whatsoever. "It uses these panels, see?" Patting a smooth, blue-tinted metal frame affixed to the foot of the cot, Dr. Beckett smiled proudly and pointed to the head of the bed, at a second frame. Four feet tall and five feet wide, the parallel panels stretched beyond the sides of cot, and were set with thin sheets of the ancients' trademark, transparent crystal. "Everythin' between these is bein' scanned," he explained, "but we targeted it to yer life sign, so only ye'll show up."

As if on cue, the ancient scanner's screen flickered to life and a 3D, semi-transparent image of a sitting humanoid popped into existence.

Steve's long hair slipped from his shoulders as he leaned forward, watching intently. Under his intense scrutiny, Dr. Kaile narrowed the machine's focus to the humanoid's head. Then she enlarged the image. The structure of the wraith's brain emerged, hovering in black space, exact to the minutest detail.

Translucent teeth flashed as Steve exhaled with pleasure, "Though inefficient to manipulate, this equipment's capabilities are fascinating." His oval pupils dilated as Dr. Kaile checked her settings, zeroing in on and switching between different parts of his brain. "Perhaps…" A low, absent hiss dissipated through the infirmary.

Snorting abruptly, Steve leaned back and narrowed his eyes. Silvery metal and black fabric elegantly entwined as his gloved and ungloved hands clasped delicately in his wire-free lap. The amber on his right wrist glimmered faintly.

Carson observed the odd body language with interest. Deciding the wraith had no intention of completing his comment, he cleared his throat. "Perhaps wha'?"

The olive eyes met Beckett's briefly, then darted back to the screen.

"I am not a medical scientist," murmured Steve. His lips twitched with a soft chuff, "I was thinking… Perhaps I should consider expanding my knowledge base."

Dr. Beckett opened his mouth in a surprised, 'oh,' at the admission. He stared at the screen in contemplative silence for a moment. Finally he nodded, "Well, ah'm glad ye find this inspirin'. Ah dare say, it'll make this enjoyable for ye."

Another absently murmured, "Perhaps…"

"Especially since ye want to study tha' feeding glove. Given the physiological aspects of nutrition, it'll likely 'ave a heavy medical component."

"If you say…"

"Ah don' say. Ah know."

Steve hissed in passive protest of the assumption.

Dr. Beckett sighed. Then he brightened, noticing that a number of lights on a certain blinking, grey box had turned green. "Oh, good. The calibration's done." Thanking Dr. Kaile and his team for their quick work, he scooped up a laser-pointer remote and activated the last screen. A huge four by three, flat monitor.

"'Ere ye go," Carson inwardly grinned, anticipating a new pleasurable response from the wraith. "Feast yer eyes on this. 'Ere's where the real science's at."

He was not disappointed. As soon as he pressed the button, switching to the compiler's input, Steve's eyes widened in amazement. His pupils dilated hugely as the image of his brain reappeared, this time lit up in flickering gradients of rainbow color.

"Welcome to Neurology one oh one," Carson announced.

With a flick of the remote, the image shrank in size, and windows spun off it, each showing a slowly rotating, 3D image of a different part of Steve's brain.

Dr. Beckett quickly zeroed in on one of the smaller structures, which, in a human, would've been the most primitive, (evolutionarily speaking), part of the brain. As he'd suspected, the pleasure center of the wraith's hypothalamus was glowing an intense orange. High activity rate. Well, that explained the dilated pupils…

"What is this?" Steve hissed.

Flicking the remote again, Carson highlighted the windows in turn, quickly noting the most obvious differences in the cerebral structures. "An extremely sensitive, highly accurate, real-time mappin' o' the electrical activity o' yer brain." Interesting… The wraith's temporal lobes were enlarged, compared to a human's. And there was a distinct nodule on the bottom rear of the thalamus. "Color indicates activity rate. Low wavelengths, oranges an' red, are high. High wavelengths, blues an' violet, are low."

A disgusted snort issued from the cot beside him.

"Ah know. It's completely backwards. Don' ask me why they did it tha' way."

"And the blacks?"

"No activit— Oh, this is fascinatin'!" Pausing on a rear view of the cerebral cortex that'd just jumped forward, Carson activated the remote's laser pointer and highlighted the bottom middle of the symmetrical image. "Ye've actually got a pair o' extra lobes squeezed in between the occipital lobes o' yer cerebral cortex!"

Steve chuffed softly, eyeing the doctor, "And what are they for?" His smug tone conveyed clearly that he knew the answer but wasn't sharing.

"Ah don' know yet," Carson shrugged, "But ah'm guessing it's somethin' to do wi' telepathic processin'. Let's find out, shall we?"

The wraith's pale, electrode-framed face turned, and he stared at Dr. Beckett for a long moment. Evaluating…

Ignoring the scrutiny, Carson switched the array's recorder on. "Ah'm goin' to give ye a few commands. Get some control readin's." He grinned cheekily, "Would'nae want to be accused o' not keepin' my scientific method sound."

Acknowledging the reference to their earlier conversation, Steve hissed and faced forward. "That is understandable…"

"Okay, ah want ye to listen closely." Banishing the cerebral cortex's window to a corner of the screen, Carson let the image of the entire brain dominate the monitor's center. He snapped his fingers and shuffled his feet, watching as ripples of orange and red blossomed in windows showing the temporal lobes. On cue, a series of sounds, made by various technicians, came from different parts of the infirmary.

"Placement o' acoustical processin' seems similar to humans," Dr. Beckett commented. Activity flared in the lower portion of the parietal lobes. "Auditory speech processin' is the same. 'At'll make this a wee bit easier." He moved closer to the cot. "Steve, ah'm goin' to touch ye, now." Reaching out, Carson firmly grasped the stiff leather encasing the wraith's upper arm. Steve shied away as red flared in the upper-middle of his parietal lobes. "Somatosensory placement seems the same."

Dr. Kaile returned with a tray, and a dim penlight and a whiff of sulfur told Carson that the wraith's visual and olfactory processors were slightly displaced, but basically in the generally expected areas. "Ah want ye to say somethin' now."

Still snorting from the sulfur, Steve hiss in irritation, "Why is this necessary?"

The lower and rear portions of the frontal lobes lit up. "At'll do. Speech center placement also similar to humans." Dr. Morgan brought a data tablet over. Taking it, Carson handed it to the annoyed wraith. "'Ere, read tha'. It's ancient."

Steve's eyes darted over the short paragraph, "It's utter nonsense."

"Ah can'nae find out how the organic tools affect ye unless ah know wha' yer brain normally does. Visual language processin' placement appears the same." Taking the tablet back, Carson returned it to Morgan and crossed his arms, surveying the disgruntled wraith pensively. He was almost done with the preplanned control tests.

But… A few others had just occurred to him.

This could get dicey.

Oval pupils contracted as Steve narrowed his green eyes, insolently catching and holding Dr. Beckett's stare.

He decided to do it. "Ah'd ask ye to taste somethin', but ah doubt ye'd consent."

A warning hiss. "That assumption is correct."

Carson nodded, "Ah thought so." Slowly stretching a hand out, he reached past his annoyed charge's head, deliberately holding the defensive gaze. Steve's eyes narrowed further, but he maintained eye contact, meeting the challenge. Beckett suddenly grinned. "However, ah will do this." With a deft flick, he snapped one of the wires forward, swinging it past the orifice on Steve's cheek.

On the monitor, the lower, enlarged portion of the temporal lobes lit up like a Christmas tree.

"HIIISSSSSSSS!!!" Flinching, Steve jerked away, almost tearing the headband of electrodes off. Activity in his hindbrain intensified briefly.

"Oo. Got a bit o' reflex there."

Stunners clattered to readiness as the wraith rounded on Beckett with another hiss, blinking angrily. The orifice on his cheek was constricted once more.

Carson raised his hands pacifyingly, noting some activity in the cerebrum's frontal lobes. "Ah'm sorry. 'At was a mite rude o' me."

"Apology not accepted!"

"Ah needed to elicit a strong emotional response. Anger's usually easiest." Lowering his hands, Carson continued clinically reciting observations. "Potential processin' o' electrical sensory information located in lower temporal lobes. Ah suspect magnetic processin' may occur 'ere too. Emotional response apparent in upper frontal lobes, placement similar to humans, but expression pattern notably different."

He smiled pleasantly. That'd had gone better than anticipated. "Okay. Two controls left. Make me see somethin'."

Recovering from the shock, the wraith gave a disbelieving chuff, "What?"

Undeterred, Carson stared at Steve expectantly, "Make me see somethin'. The black shadows tha' confuse prey. Ah heard ye whacked Sheppard wi' 'em earlier."

Obviously displeased with being manipulated, Steve snarled viciously and lunged his face at Beckett, threateningly baring his translucent teeth. Black, wispy mist flooded the infirmary, making Lieutenant Geerman and the marines tense.

Not intimidated by the display, Carson crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows disapprovingly. "Is tha' expression really necessary?"

Olive eyes widening, the wraith leaned back, hissing softly as his pale features adopted a calm, neutral look. The dark mist continued flowing past the equipment.

"'At's better." Still facing the cot, Dr. Beckett turned his head slightly, glancing at the monitor. The odd nodule on Steve's thalamus, which had been holding a steady, yellowish-green, had taken on a faint yellowish-orange tinge. And the extra lobes in his cerebral cortex, which had contained blues and violets, were now dotted with red.

"Beautiful," Carson breathed, "Generalized telepathic processin' is confirmed in the cerebral cortex's well-developed extra lobes." He rubbed his chin, 'hmmed' thoughtfully, and grinned, "This area ah'll 'ereafter refer to as the psychial lobes."

Steve snorted disdainfully, and a few of the staff chuckled slightly.

Beckett gave the chucklers a wink. "Major Sheppard'll love tha'. Ah hadn' named anythin' yet." Sobering he glanced at the screen again, "Mild telepathic sensory regulation appears to be occurrin' in a specialized an' well-developed structure on the rear o' the thalamus. Ah will refrain from namin' this the psychalamus node."

Turning, Carson refocused on the silent, but still annoyed, wraith. Olive eyes stared unblinkingly at him. "Ye can drop the shadows, now."

The undulating sea of wispy black mist vanished.

"Okay, just one more test."

Holding his recent tormentor's gaze, Steve slowly cocked his head, "What is it?"

In response, Dr. Beckett dropped his crossed arms, turned crisply on his heel, and strode purposefully for Dr. Morgan, who was approaching with another tray. "Thank ye, Doctor. If ye'd wait out 'ere please." Morgan stopped outside the semi-circle of equipment and passed the tray in. Accepting it, Carson walked to a tape mark on the floor and showed the grey platter's contents to his charge.

"Telepathically probe these items."

Steve eyed the gold-tinted metallic cylinders dubiously. "What are they?"

"Does'nae matter. They're telepathically inert."

"I see…" Expelling an amused chuff of air, the wraith stared at the control subjects disdainfully. "I cannot make contact with them."

"Tha's as it should be." They were only lipstick tubes… Watching the screen, Carson saw that the newly-named psychial lobes had lit up with isolated dots of high activity again. The placement, however, was different. "Targeted telepathic activity confirmed in psychial lobes. Areas o' overlap wi' the generalized activity exist, but the expression pattern is distinctly different." His gaze darted to the thalamus. Its extra node was glowing a yellowish-orange. "Telepathic sensory regulation in the thalamus is similar in placement to generalized activity, but slightly more intense."

Carson turned his back on Steve, hiding the tray from sight.

The psychial lobes went dark.

"Do it again."

A sharp chuff. "There is nothing to sense. I have no way of targeting my probe."

"A strong visual component. Interestin'… Okay, Steve. Ah'm goin' to ask ye to do it a few more times." Dr. Beckett passed the tray back, then watched the monitor as Dr. Morgan carried it through the infirmary, stopping on other preset tape marks. When Morgan reached the far wall, Beckett nodded in satisfaction. "Excellent. We'll graph tha' later, but distance appears to be 'aving a linear effect—"

"You will find it is ultimately exponential."

Carson glanced at the cot in surprise. The wraith was still watching the tray. "Really? Ah didn' see signs o' any curve. 'At's a long range."

"Yessss…." A low hiss, "Now may I know what those are?"

Already carrying the tray away, Dr. Morgan called over his shoulder, "Dr. Sheckle's favorite lipstick tubes."

Oval-pupiled eyes stared blankly at the retreating scientist's back.

"Facial cosmetics," Carson explained, "They were the right size an' weight. An' the physical appearance met our parameters." They'd been looking for shiny and metallic, and Morgan had been on bead-sifting duty when Carson called.

Steve chuffed softly, but declined to comment, "Are your control tests done?"

"Aye, ah believe so." Carson called to Dr. Morgan, "If ye'd kindly bring the wee beasties out, Tim? Ah think we're ready." Wee, starving, beasties…

"Will do, Carson."

An eager hiss filled the air. Leather rustled as Steve turned towards the door Morgan had taken. By the screen, Dr. Kaile, who'd been watching the scan results ever since disposing of the sulfur and penlight, eyed the wraith anxiously.

"Not so fast," Carson pointed at the visibly-perking alien warningly. "First ah want ye to close yer mind to their telepathic signals. Like ye did in the cell."

Steve snorted and faced forward again, impatient eyes narrowing submissively, "As you wish, Doctor Beckett." The activity in his psychial lobes dulled to a dim violet, and his thalamus intensified from yellowish-green to fiery orange.

Noting the extra node's sudden brightness, Carson 'hmmed' thoughtfully. "Would ah be right in thinkin' this requires a lot o' effort on yer part?"

Translucent teeth flashed as pale lips twitched, emitting an evasive chuff. "Perhaps… Perhaps not… Again, an irrelevant line of inquiry."

With a sigh, Dr. Beckett shared a glance with Dr. Kaile and refocused on the monitor. "Forget ah mentioned it." Without looking at the wraith, he continued offhandedly, "By the way, Ah have'nae formally introduced ye two yet. This is—"

"Dr. Kaile," a low hiss, "I heard…"

He should've known… "She's a specialist in neurology an' neurochemistry," Carson continued, "She's got an incredible, in-depth understanding o' the brain's more complex interactions. She'll be 'elpin' us interpret today's results."

On the cot, Steve cocked his head, eyeing the petit, tow-headed woman appraisingly. "I look forward to your observations, Dr. Kaile. I expect they will be enlightening." The lean, black-coated body suddenly straightened. Green eyes snapped to the door, and Steve's hands delicately unclasped. Wires swayed, and the faceted shoulders glittered dangerously as he gripped the mattress with rigidly splayed fingers.

Unnerved by the abrupt end to what'd apparently been nothing but a token acknowledgment of human pleasantries, Kaile swallowed her unvoiced reply and stared at the monitor. A few seconds later, clicking footsteps began drifting into the room.

"Tha' would be Dr. Morgan returning wi' our subjects."

A breathy, anticipation-laden hiss, "At lasssst…"

"Aye," Carson agreed, "At last." He'd been waiting for this all morning.

Dr. Morgan finally emerged from the doorway, and Steve exhaled in audible pleasure, instantly pinning the small tray he was holding with a fervent stare. His eyes drank in the pair of glimmering objects the tray held.

"Okay. Dr. Morgan, if ye don' mind—"

Another hiss interrupted Carson, "Do you wish me to probe them?"

Beckett's eyebrows lifted as Morgan placed the tray on a cart and positioned it on the furthest tape mark. He turned to Steve in puzzlement, "Do ye think it's necessary?"

The wraith snorted softly, tracking the finger guards' progress through the infirmary, "Yes. They are no longer broadcasting."

Dr. Kaile frowned curiously. According to the monitor, the wraith's mind was still closed. Nervously, she cleared her throat, "How do you know that?"

Steve's pale chin jerked with a sharp chuff. "The act of closing one's mind is simply a sophisticated form of ignoring. At the moment, there is nothing to ignore."

Using the remote, Carson highlighted the brightly glowing image of the wraith's thalamus. Consciously inhibiting an entire set of sensory input. That would certainly explain the increased activity… He passed the remote to Dr. Kaile, who began flicking through various windows. "So they turned 'emselves off, then?"

"Once unable to sense my presence, they likely shut down to conserve resources. Such efficiency wou—" Snorting sharply, Steve snapped his face towards Carson, inadvertently jostling the electrodes and displacing a pair of wires. Flinching, he swept the offenders away, hissing irritably, "What is he doing?!"

Glancing at Dr. Morgan, who'd left the cart, (and it's contents), by the far wall and was heading for the equipment array, Carson hastened to the cot and carefully drew the wires back into place. The wraith stilled at his touch, eyes narrowing passively as he gently untangled ivory hair from the leads. "Ye need to stay calm, Steve. Strong emotion and physical agitation are unnecessary variables. Ah explained tha' earlier."

A sullen, protesting snort, "We have not begun yet."

Carson raised his eyebrows reproachfully, "Ah beg to differ. We began the moment the test subjects entered the room. Kaile's takin' a baseline."

Steve exhaled a hissing sigh and glanced at the monitor. Dr. Kaile was watching his frontal lobes with rapt fascination. "I understand." His gaze flicked to the finger guards again. "I will endeavor to be more accommodating."

All across the screen, activity in various windows cooled as the wraith inhaled deeply and slowly released a long breath. Kaile and Beckett watched the dramatic change in amazement. "That's incredible," Dr. Kaile whispered.

Reaching the array, Dr. Morgan stepped past a bundle of cables and came to see what they were staring at. Kaile showed him a quick 'before and after' shot.

"Yeah," he agreed, "that's pretty impressive…"

Carson silently concurred. But could the wraith keep it up? "To answer yer question, Steve, ye told Major Sheppard tha' the organic tools 'ave a limited range. To study tha', we'll be collectin' data based on their distance from ye. An', seeing as ye also said the signals' effects are cumulative, it's safer to start 'em far away an' gradually bring 'em closer. Tha' way, we can observe any changes in yer behavior better."

A pleased smile ghosted across Steve's mouth, "Your methodology appears sound today, Doctor Beckett. Shall I probe them now?"

"Can ye do it wi'out opening yer mind?"

"Of course…"

Interesting. Carson asked Dr. Kaile to highlight the slowly rotating, semi-transparent psychial lobes, "Then go ahead."

The psychial lobes lit up briefly, then darkened once more. "Targeted telepathic activity observed," Dr. Beckett recited, "pattern similar to the control tests…" Steve's thalamus took on an orangey-red tinge for an instant, but the color quickly cooled to a uniform orange, "Wha' was tha'?"

"They shut off again," the wraith hissed. "They are too far away to sense my presence without continual probing."

At a nod from Beckett, Dr. Morgan jogged to the cart and rolled it to the next tape mark. "So much fer tha' data point," Carson muttered. "Okay, Steve, try it again."

The same thing happened.

"Next mark, Tim."

This time the orangey-red tinge in the thalamus remained.

"There!" Carson grinned, "Third time's the charm."

Steve's teeth bared in satisfaction, and his eyes slid from the tools to the monitor with interest. "Shall I open my mind?"

"Not yet. We're goin' to run through all o' the distance marks like this first."

Steve looked at Carson with a disbelieving chuff, "Why?"

Beckett shared a puzzled glance with Kaile, "To see how it affects ye, o' course."

Electrodes glittered under the lights as the wraith carefully cocked his head, "They cannot affect me when my mind is closed."

"But it's affectin' tha'," Carson pointed out, indicating Steve's thalamus.

A derisive snort, "A paltry side-note. It will have no bearing on any conclusions drawn." The olive eyes locked on Dr. Beckett's blue ones knowingly, "It is a separate study entirely." Steve paused. When he spoke again, his multi-tonal voice was lower, resonating with warning, "I only agreed to one study," a soft hiss, "Today…"

Dismayed, Carson opened and closed his mouth, unable to truthfully refute the statements. It was, technically, an unrelated set of data points. Studying the effects of telepathic signals on a closed mind as opposed to the effects on an open mind. But it WAS a legitimate line of study because it involved the tools. It hadn't even occurred to Carson that the wraith would nitpick the details of his participation like this. Especially given his interest in the results. And his fascination with the equipment…

Unless… Hope returned as Beckett glanced at the sophisticated medical devices surrounding them. What if that was the point…?

Smiling brightly, he met the wraith's warning stare with a cheerful, "Can ah infer then tha' ye would'nae mind participatin' in other studies on other days?"

Steve's answer was a barely perceptible widening of the eyes and an unenlightening, sharply expelled chuff.

"Nevermind," Carson poured on the cheer, sensing he'd guessed right, "Let's proceed to phase two, shall we? If ye'd kindly open yer mind?…"

Slowly tilting his head, Steve hissed softly and bared his teeth for a second. Then his olive irises released Beckett dismissively and fastened on the monitor. Activity flared in his psychial lobes. His thalamus cooled to a steady yellow… Straightening, Steve scooted to the edge of the cot, leaning forward as much as possible without leaving the space between the ancient scanner's panels. He exhaled with pleasure…

Casting a glance at the screen, Carson decided to focus on the wraith. As important as it was to observe the devices, it was equally vital to observe their subject. The data could be replayed, (and would be, over and over in minute detail during analysis), but first hand observations of the wraith's reactions could not. The video camera perched on top of the Eeg could only capture so much.

Another exhalation whispered through the infirmary.

Dr. Kaile was flipping through the windows, quietly talking Dr. Morgan through some interactions she was seeing between the different lobes. Able to hear every word, Steve listened raptly with dark, dilated pupils, drinking in the shifting display of colors as the neurologist explained what the patterns meant.

Intrigued, Dr. Beckett rubbed his chin thoughtfully and took a quick look at the image of Steve's hypothalamus. Its pleasure center was glowing orange with high activity levels, just like when he'd first switched to the compiler's input…

Carson 'hmmed,' feeling a hypothesis form. What if—

"What are the time intervals you are using?"

Jolted back to the present experiment, Dr. Beckett turned to Steve with a shrug, "Actually, ah hadn' decided tha' yet. Perhaps ye could offer an opinion? Ah was thinkin' either five or ten minutes…?"

Not taking his eyes off the screen, Steve tilted his face pensively. "Five minutes per marker should be more than adequate." A rueful chuff. "As I have already been exposed to the signals, it is likely that I'm predisposed to be receptive to their influence."

"The whole, 'cumulative effect' thing, then…" Carson nodded. "Sheppard mentioned tha' too. Ye think they'll pick up where they left off wi' ye?"

"No…" the wraith's face tilted the other way, "But the effects will build more rapidly than before. That I am aware of what to expect will be beneficial."

"In controlling 'em, ye mean?"

A breathy hiss, "Yessss…"

Carson signaled to Dr. Morgan. "Five minutes it is."

While Morgan fiddled with the stopwatch dangling from his neck, Carson crossed his arms and returned his attention to Steve, who ignored him.

"Nothin' to do but wait."

And wait they did. The seconds ticked by, punctuated by regular beeps from the timer. Dr. Kaile stayed glued to the monitor, intently searching for the first clear sign that the can-openers were singing their insidious, inaudible song. Dr. Morgan manned his timer, moving the cart among the markers as needed and pointing out activity of interest when Kaile's stream of comments faltered. Dr. Beckett listened, occasionally making comments of his own, but mostly concentrating on their black-coated guest, who gave every appearance of being entranced by the data floating across the screen.

Steve's single-minded fascination with the images of his brain was unbroken during the first couple intervals. He ignored the organic tools completely.

Then, halfway into the third interval…

He shot the dully-gleaming artifacts a glance.

With a sharp chuff, the wraith snapped his focus back to the monitor. His scrutiny of the data resumed. It was soon interrupted again, by another glance early in the fourth interval. Then a third, barely a minute later. As his lapses in attention increased in frequency, Steve's olive eyes swung back and forth, absently slipping to the tools, then forcefully wrenching away, as if reprimanded for wandering.

Dr. Kaile highlighted Steve's frontal lobes, muttering, "Something's happening here… I'm not sure what. I can't pinpoint the initial stimuli yet…"

Fidgeting joined the glances. Carson rubbed his chin, watching Steve with concern. The wraith was obviously trying to ignore what was happening to him, but it was a given he'd eventually fail… Carson looked at Lieutenant Geerman and his marines. They were standing more alert, holding their stunners ready. He grimaced slightly. A show of force wasn't the answer to the coming dilemma…

By the end of the sixth interval, the wraith's eyes were in constant motion, darting between the screen and tools so quickly, Beckett doubted he was fully focusing on either. As soon as the seventh interval started, his breathing quickened. Steve's lichen brow furrowed in frustration, and he sharply shook his head, as if clearing it, blinking rapidly.

"He's getting agitated," Dr. Kaile noted, still watching the monitor, "It's muddying the results. Can we do some—"

An irritated hiss cut her off.

Deciding to intervene, Carson stepped between the aggravated wraith and the cart carrying the finger guards, deliberately blocking the artifacts from view.

The olive eyes hit his white lab coat as if slamming into a wall, and Steve jerked back with a snort. His gaze snapped to the doctor's face, demeanor shifting from restless hostility to silent gratitude in a heartbeat.

Carson smiled inoffensively, "Are ye okay? Can ye continue?"

Steve expelled a shaky chuff of air and closed his eyes. He inhaled and exhaled slowly. "I am all right. Though I cannot sense the tools' signals, their effects are… Distracting." Wide nostrils flared as he took another breath, and Steve released a barely audible hiss. "The combination is… Disconcerting…"

Dr. Beckett nodded, imagining the stress the wraith was under. Knowingly putting himself in a situation that would force his mind to betray him… It was, in a way, both incredibly foolish and scientifically admirable. "Would ye like to take a break?"

Electrodes twinkled as Steve's ivory hair shook in a slight negative. "No. I will continue." His eyes slit open, fastening on a point somewhere by Carson's knees, "Stopping would add unnecessary variables. I will simply," the multi-tonal voice dropped disappointedly, "be unable to follow your Dr. Kaile's explanations."

Carson blinked. Was that the real cause of the agitation? "Ah would'nae worry 'bout tha'. We're recordin' this entire experiment. Anythin' ye miss can be replayed later. Ah'm sure Kaile will be 'appy to explain her findin's to ye."

Steve's eyes flicked to Carson's in surprise.

"Ah said ye'd get to view the results. Tha' includes review an' analysis."

A soft chuff and disbelieving, (maybe uncomprehending?) blink.

Dr. Beckett sighed, gesturing to the screen in exasperation, "Did ye think this was all ye'd get? Tha' we'd only show ye stuff when we knew ye weren' thinkin' straight?"

A querulous hiss and confused glance at Dr. Kaile told Carson that that was exactly what the distracted wraith had expected.

"Bloody 'Ell," he muttered. Touching the black, leather-clad arm to get its owner's attention, (and ignoring how his unfocused charge startled at the contact), Carson stated emphatically, "Look, Steve. Ah don' work like tha'. Stop worryin' about unnecessary stuff an' calm yer mind."

Oval pupils searched Beckett's face for a few seconds. Then Steve snorted softly. Slowly, he inhaled and exhaled once more. On the monitor, activity levels throughout his brain cooled, though not as dramatically as they had earlier.

"Much better," Dr. Kaile said, "Just keep doing that."

"We're almost done with this interval," added Dr. Morgan.

Carson thought fast, remembering what the last decrease in distance had done. During the controls, Steve had claimed distance had an exponential relationship with telepathic effort. A similar trend seemed to be occurring with the signal's effect. If he was right, Steve would soon be unable to concentrate on anything but the tools. Carson had already exploited the visual component of attention by blocking Steve's view, so he needed to find something else to help the wraith retain his focus.

Inspiration struck.

"Perhaps there's somethin' outside this experiment ye'd like to talk about?"

Beckett realized he'd opened Pandora's box the instant the words left his mouth.

Ivory slid across black as Steve tilted his pale face as far as the waterfall of wires streaming from his jury-rigged headband would allow. "I know what you are doing, Doctor. And there are many things about Atlantis I would like to discuss." He hissed, smiling predatorily, "How far will you go to accommodate me?"

Carson frowned, annoyed that the prisoner was taking advantage of his predicament to play the information game. "Ah suppose tha' depends on how far ye push me," he stated. Crossing his arms indignantly, he stared at the wraith with a mix of dismay and reproach, "Do ye really think this is the time or place for tha' sort o' thing?"

Steve's predatory smile widened, "Where is Major Sheppard?"

Apparently he did. Dr. Beckett sighed and gave in. "E's off-world."

"What is he doing, off-world?"

"By this time? Negotiatin' an alliance, ah expect."

A soft chuff. Steve tilted his face the other way, "Where is the world he's negotiating on? What is its address?"

Dr. Beckett heaved another sigh and disappointedly shook his head, "Now Steve. Ye know ah cannot tell ye tha'. Ask somethin' else."

A smug hiss met his refusal. As it faded, the wraith's smile vanished, "Doctor Beckett…" Olive eyes, unexpectedly uncertain, searched Carson's face, "You are not as well versed in deception as Major Sheppard…"

Ohhh boy. Suddenly glad Sergeant Bates was also off-world, and not in charge of the security escort, Carson answered warily, "Ah'll take tha' as a compliment."

"It is intended as such." Steve exhaled, a short, decisive chuff. Uncertainty hardened to resolve, "The other of my kind that was captured. What happened to him?"

Ice flooded Dr. Beckett's chest at the mention of the Hoff project. He swallowed guiltily, "Ah would prefer a different subject, if ye don' mind."

"I do mind," Steve hissed accusingly, "The other of my kind is dead."

Carson froze. "Did Major Sheppard tell ye tha'?"

A soft snort, "He did not have to. It is the only logical explanation."

Unhappy with the topic, but realizing Dr. Morgan had moved the artifacts to less than fifteen feet away and the wraith hadn't lost his focus, Carson grudgingly nodded. "Aye. That it is." He watched the expectant face warily, unsure how the alien would react to his next words, "Yer right. Tha' other wraith is dead."

Steve merely narrowed his eyes and inclined his head slightly. "As I thought." He leaned forward, flashing translucent teeth with a sharp chuff, "Why is he dead?"

Beckett's white-coated shoulders lifted in a shrug, "Believe it or not, it was an accident. Ah was hopin' to keep him a while—"

"An accident?" The multi-toned comment was punctuated with an explosive chuff of disbelief. Around the equipment array, stunners clattered to readiness. "You killed one of my kind by 'accident?' How? We are not easy to kill, Doctor."

"Ah'm afraid ah'm not at liberty to discuss tha' wi' ye."

"Why not?"

Carson shrugged again, "Truthfully? 'Cause it's a security risk. We don' plan on doin' it again, an' we don' want anyone else doin' it either."

Steve hissed and leaned back, "You don't plan on doing it again…"

"Never." Dr. Beckett was adamant. He was never testing the Hoffan drug on a live wraith again. Or a human, for that matter.

Oval pupils regarded the determined Scotsman in confusion, "You would discard what I assume is an extremely potent weapon so easi—"

"Ah'm not discussin' this."

Teeth bared, releasing an irritated hiss.

"Hiss all ye like. Ah won' change my mind."

Steve jerked back with a startled snort, and his translucent teeth vanished as quickly as they'd revealed. "I understand." The pale face averted submissively, then snapped up again, dark eyes blinking in bewilderment.

Carson hid a frown, wondering at the odd reaction.

A soft series of uncertain chuffs issued from the wraith, "The place I will be going tomorrow, Doctor…" The last word hissed, lifting in a question.

It took Beckett a moment to work out what was really being asked, but once he did, he shook his head and smiled reassuringly. "It's not the place we took the other wraith. Ah promise, it's completely different."

"Where…?"

"Ah don' know where—"

A frustrated snarl, followed by another startled snort cut Carson off. Steve averted his face, blinking bewilderedly once more.

"Are ye all right?"

"I don't kno—"

"I got it!" Dr. Kaile exclaimed. "I've isolated a signal." Dr. Beckett and Steve both looked at her. The petit scientist pointed at the screen, where a set of enlarged images was slowly rotating. The psychial lobes were there, along with close-ups of specific areas within the frontal lobes and the thalamus. Using the remote's laser pointer, Kaile highlighted several spots of rhythmically pulsing activity. "I'm not sure exactly what these all are, but they're definitely linked." She indicated a curl of red in the psychial lobes, "And THIS is the catalyst." Glancing at Steve, who was watching the pointer's movements with aggressive determination, Kaile began pointing to the spots in turn, "In a human, these would be memory, regulation and direction of attention, emotional response, and," the pointer stopped on a part of the thalamus pulsing out of synch with the others, "an inhibitive response, probably of the motor variety."

"The signal stimulating the urge to pick up the tools," Steve hissed.

"Exactly!" Kaile grinned.

Carson stared at the linked images thoughtfully, "Why the inhibitive response?"

"Oh," pleased with the question, Kaile bounced a bit, "That's 'cause it's become entwined with his desire to resist the signal's effects. He's constantly reminding himself not to act on the—"

A barking chuff interrupted her. "What about the other signal?" Steve snapped.

Frightened by the intense impatience suddenly directed at her, Dr. Kaile swallowed nervously. "I'm still working on it. I haven't finished isolating—"

An irritated snarl, "What HAVE you isolated?"

As Kaile hurriedly began resizing windows, Dr. Beckett stepped between her and the wraith. Though his hands raised placatingly, his voice was firm, "Calm yerself. Ah'll not 'ave ye terrorizin' my staff."

Steve froze with a snort, then averted his face, ivory hair swinging, "That was not my intention." His pale brow furrowed, subtly shifting electrodes.

Carson frowned as he moved back to re-hide the cart from view. This new behavior pattern didn't fit their current hypotheses…

The rustle of leather issued from the cot, and restless olive eyes fixed on Atlantis's chief surgeon, blinking with renewed confusion. "Doctor Beckett," Steve chuffed softly, a low, distressed sound, "I think… Perhaps… I ne—"

"Here's what I've got so far." Unaware of the potentially enlightening exchange she'd interrupted, Dr. Kaile was highlighting a new set of images. The laser pointer hovered over a spot in the frontal lobes. It was pulsing green, markedly lower than the activity levels around it. "Your idea about a pairing of signals was correct. This, in humans, is an area associated with self-reflection. It's definitely being intermittently inhibited." She pointed to the thalamus, "But I'm not sure which area of activity is responsible. This signal appears to be closely entangled with the first—"

"That would make sense," The wraith leaned forward, fixated on the screen as if the last out burst hadn't happened. "What about the catalyst?"

"I haven't found it yet," Dr. Kaile's pointer swept to the psychial lobes, which were peppered with orange and red blobs, "It could be any of these—"

An annoyed hiss split the air.

"Or it could be incorporated into the first one I showed you."

"Which is it?" Steve barked, baring his teeth.

"Steve…"

Carson's warning met a dismissive snort. "Which is it?!"

"I'll find it eventually," Kaile quickly added, glancing at the wraith uneasily, "This signal's effects have been extremely subtle. Building gradually. I only noticed in the last few intervals. With a little more time, it should come into focu—"

"There is no more time!" snarled Steve. "Perhaps, if they were closer—" Wheels squeaked as he shot to his feet, smoothly spinning to face the cart. Wires snapped, and cables tautened. The jury-rigged band of electrodes yanked off, and a chorus of high-pitched whines split the air as machines protested the loss of input.

Lieutenant Geerman's security escort surged forward, stunners clattering.

Stopping short, Steve reared back and froze, blinking bewilderedly, staring at the bristling circle of weapons' barrels with shock.

"Everyone, stay calm!" Pushing into the circle of soldiers, Carson pressed the stunners beside him down, praying the safety precaution didn't make whatever had just happened worse. Approaching the black-coated alien slowly, he caught his gaze.

"Steve, ah need ye to sit," Carson implored.

Hissing shakily, Steve glanced at Beckett, but didn't move. His eyes flicked to the cart, now fully within his view. They zeroed in on the organic tools. Leather and wires jerked as Steve hastily aborted a step towards them.

Carson blocked his way, "Ah said, sit. Dr. Morgan will bring the artifacts closer." Wary oval pupils skipped to the guards, darting across the stunners. Carson gestured for Geerman to stand down. "We're all right. 'E's okay. Aren't ye, Steve?"

The wraith inhaled and exhaled, visibly composing himself. "Yesss…" As the marines backed off slightly, his face swung towards Dr. Kaile, "The data…"

Following the look, Carson nodded. The images on the main screen had vanished. "Aye. Ye stepped out from between the panels."

Snorting softly, Steve retreated, placing himself within the boundaries of the metal frames. The pictures of his brain reappeared, minus the color-coded electrical activity. Throughout the equipment array, stunners lowered.

"Ah think this might be a good time for a break."

"No," Steve slowly sat. After arranging his coat with deliberate care, he retrieved the headband of electrodes and proceeded to carefully untangle it. "I can continue."

"Are ye sure tha's a good idea—"

Pale lips twitched, emitting an impatient chuff, "I have one more method of concentration at my disposal."

Dr. Kaile and Dr. Morgan exchanged glances, and Carson crossed his arms, doubtfully. "An' wha' might tha' be—"

"Meditation!" Seemingly startled by his own hostile bark, Steve took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The ivory head bowed, and he delicately replaced the electrode band. "I apologize… Doctor Beckett. Would you fix this?"

Resigned, Carson nodded at Kaile and moved to the wraith's side, deftly adjusting the displaced sensors. On the Electroencephalograph, angry red lights began switching to happy green. "For our safety an' yer's, Steve, the next time ye get up, ah will stop this experiment. Whether ye like it, or not."

Without opening his eyes, Steve hissed in consent, "I understand. If such an eventuality occurs, I will not protest."

"Ah'm glad to hear it…" The electronic squeals silenced abruptly as Dr. Beckett twisted a snapped wire back together, turning the Eeg's last red light green. On the screen, the 3D, semi-transparent brain blossomed with color again. "There. Ah think we're good to go now…"

Light glimmered across Steve's gloved wrist as he delicately clasped his hands in his lap and began taking in slow, even breaths.

Dr. Kaile and Dr. Morgan clustered around the monitor. "This is amazing," Kaile whispered. Morgan frowned for a moment, then nodded agreement.

"He shouldn't be able to do that…"

As one, the pair shot the motionless wraith nervous, surreptitious glances.

Carson came over to see what they were looking at. Dr. Kaile indicated the windows she'd highlighted earlier. "It's like he's temporarily reset everything." The images of the first signal's effects popped up. All the activity had cooled, and a few spots looked as if they'd just started forming. "It's as if the signals are starting from scratch," she murmured, "Only accelerated… It's like we're watching the entire experiment over again, in fast-forward. Everything's the same…"

Catching sight of something odd as Dr. Kaile flicked to the second signal's windows again, Carson quietly relieved her of the remote.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Ah'm not sure yet." Splitting the screen in two, Beckett called up data from the experiment's start and began playing it in fast-forward, comparing the activity patterns in various windows. He stopped when he saw part of Steve's thalamus. "There! Tha's not the same." Not waiting for Kaile or Morgan to look, Carson banished everything and pulled up the first signal's thalamus close-up. "It's there too," he breathed, "Tell me tha's not wha' ah think it is…" Zooming out to his colleagues' protests, he rotated the thalamus in space and zoomed in once more, highlighting what he'd spotted. Midnight blue, slowly fading into violet, currently dominated this part of Steve's thalamus. But in the fast-forwarding window beside it, yellow cooled to green.

Dr. Kaile's eyes widened in horror. "That's not connected to the others!"

A stopwatch beeped.

"This interval's up," Dr. Morgan whispered, "Should I…?"

Carson shook his head and lowered his voice, "Leave it. Ah'm droppin' the last two data points." Clearing his throat Carson turned to face the cot. The wraith hadn't moved. "Steve, is it possible tha' a third signal might be present?"

No response. Wires glistened as Steve exhaled a long hiss.

"Steve? Ah need to kn—"

"I heard." The wraith's lips twitched in suppressed irritation, "A third signal is extremely unlikely."

"But it's possible?" Carson pressed.

Another long exhalation, this time annoyed, "Given the tools' origins… Yesss."

That was all Beckett needed to hear. He headed for the Eeg. "We're done. Steve, if ye'd close yer mind, ple—"

An angry snort split the air. "Doctor Beckett, I am trying to meditate. Stop talking to me."

"Ye can stop meditatin'. We're done. Close yer—"

"We are not done! I have not gotten up yet!"

The security escort tensed as Carson thought better of switching off the Eeg and warily approached the cot, "Steve, ah need ye to listen. Ye need to close yer mind. The experiment is too dangerous to continue."

Steve hissed furiously, snapping his eyes open. His face pushed towards Carson threateningly, nostrils flaring. "You think I cannot control myself!?"

Carson glanced meaningfully at the wraith's feeding hand. Amber was flaring erratically as the gloved fingers flexed. "The question's not whether ye can control yerself. The question is whether the starvin' beasties'll let ye."

Snarling in confusion, Steve jerked his face back, "What do you mean?"

"Close yer mind, an' ah'll tell ye."

An agitated hiss exploded, "WHY SHOULD I?!"

Stunners clattered to readiness as Carson quickly retreated, and Steve twitched forward, as if to follow, stopping only because he felt the sharp tug of electrodes.

"Settle down, Steve," Lieutenant Geerman ordered, "Listen to Dr. Beckett."

The wraith snarled again, this time angrily, and the bristling circle of weapons inched closer to the cot. Dr. Kaile, Dr. Morgan, and the infirmary's staff withdrew to the next room, as they'd been instructed to do in the event of a possible incident. Beckett was left alone with the equipment, staring at the irate wraith and his marine escort.

"We WILL knock you out," Geerman warned.

A defensive hiss.

Not wanting the experiment to end on a negative, involuntary note, (i.e. with his subject stunned), Carson waved his arms, adding a big, white, lab-coaty flourish to attract Steve's scattering attention. The oval-pupils shot towards him with a snort. "Look 'ere, an' ye'll see the problem," Carson swept his palm across the cooling, midnight blue image of Steve's thalamus, "Electrical activity in this region is bein' severely inhibited." He indicated the earlier images, "'Ere's the progression." Restarting the replay, he tripled the fast-forward, heightening the drama of the color shift, "As ye'll see, the inhibition is acceleratin' exponentially. Tha's wha's—"

"QUIET, Doctor!" Steve's eyes darted over the screen. His hands clenched on the cot's mattress as he swayed forward, lean body trembling with the effort to focus long enough to interpret what he was seeing. "This is… What?"

"A severe, inhibition progressio—"

"No! What IS this?" Ivory rippled as Steve violently shook his head, cutting Carson's confused reply off with a shaking, frustrated hiss. "My meaning!" The olive eyes closed, and Steve carefully bit his words out, "What. Does. It. DO?"

Stunners lowered minutely as Carson banished the replay, letting an overview of the whole brain pop up. "If ye were human—"

"I am NOT human!"

"But if ye were—"

A growling hiss, "STOP SAYING that!" Steve's eyes flew open, fastening on Carson's with the slow burn of warning desperation. "NO IF'S!"

Abruptly realizing that the wraith was mentally unable to handle indefinite concepts at the moment, Carson quickly reframed his suspicion as a statement. "This region o' yer brain," Olive irises distractedly tracked Beckett's hand as he waved it across the thalamus, "is responsible for regulating spontaneous impulses."

Steve blinked uncomprehendingly. Carson's hand dropped, and the eerily empty gaze followed it down until it disappeared into a lab-coat pocket. Bereft of target, the blank gaze slid back up, meandering idly as it returned to the highlighted image…

Carson suppressed a sigh of disappointment. It was entirely possible that the wraith was too far-gone to process the implications of the data. If that were the case, stopping the signals by removing the artifacts from the room could provoke a potentially violent reaction. Chancing that would be irresponsible… Beckett met Lieutenant Geerman's eyes, steeling himself to give the stun signal.

In the lengthening quiet, Steve's head slowly tilted to one side. Then…

"Impulssssse… Control." A low hiss ghosted through the infirmary.

On the screen… Steve's psychial lobes went dark.

-------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading! Please review! Again, things I'm working on specifically are: 1. Maintaining a Season 1 feel in the flashback chapters. 2. Keeping the regulars in character.


	13. Chapter 12: hiiissssssss

Okay, back to the present! Yay! It's another shortish, experimental chapter. I hope it satisfies.

I'd like to take a moment to give special thanks to SGA-Seven and Hagfish-plushie for their thoughtful comments and continued support. At this time, I'd also like to acknowledge the exceptionally high number of hits from Thailand that my traffic profile says I've been getting. I didn't realize I'd find such a large audience there.

Thanks to everyone in Thailand who's taken an interest in my story!

Happy reading!

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.

**Chapter Twelve: hiiissssssss…**

(translation: … )

_**Present**_

Quiet…

…

Stillness…

…

The wraith sat, leather-clad arms braced upon the edge of his sleeping pallet, black boots planted carelessly, yet firmly, on the chitin floor. Air whispered shakily in his lungs, and imperceptible tremors shivered his limbs. Green, heavy-lidded eyes stared unseeing at an amorphous point slightly to the left of the doorframe's base…

The wraith sat…

…waiting…

…

…willing strength to come back…

…

…

…In…

…tremble…

…

…Out…

…tremble…

…

The universe had shifted. Had stopped shifting. And he lived… Priority was intact. Changed, but intact. Instinct survived. Redirected… Illuminating… Motivating… And, ultimately… Constant.

And he lived. Yet… What now…?

…patience…

…

…In…

…tremble…

…

…Out…

…tremble…

…

The wraith shut his eyes, feeling the weakness in his limbs. It washed through him, wave after wave of pervasive, unrelenting exhaustion… He had not expected this. When he'd first realized what the trapped panic meant. What it was… When reality proved undeniable. Acquiescence inescapable… He'd recognized the shift's first tremors. He'd welcomed them. Embraced them. Willed them to progress. He'd encouraged the change shamelessly, determined to get it over with…

He hadn't expected the transition to be so violent.

So… Extreme…

…

Or so utterly debilitating…

…

Muscles shook. Senses blurred… Exhaustion… A detached part of the wraith's dazed mind idly noted the sympathetic symptoms of mental shock…

Shock.

Pale fingers gripped the sleeping pallet, struggling under the illusionary effort of staying sitting up. Shock could not be cured by sustenance. He must wait it out. Recovery would bring strength… Patience. Wait…

The warmth of the organic cushion pressed reassuringly against his feeding slit. He relaxed his palm, letting the lips of the nourishing orifice slip open. Warmth invaded… Flesh quivered, and anchoring bristles blossomed, flexing. Probing. Tasting… A clean, living taste. Benign, inedible. Warm… His fingertips' injection hooks extended, gently prodding… Spongy, yet too firm to penetrate. Enzyme slicked the surface, sweetening it briefly before absorbing into its microscopic pores.

The warmth increased slightly…

The wraith drank it in, lifting his face, resisting the tantalizing urge to sleep… Memory unfurled. Another warmth. Different… Drugging heat in a bitter cold… Throbbing beneath his hand. Pulsing in time with his heart…

He remembered pulling it close. Knowing he should not. Sensing, if only unconsciously, the risk… Yet, at the time, the warmth had embodied his best chance of assuring his own survival. He'd pulled it closer. Entreating. Coaxing.

He remembered drowning in its response… Losing himself. Giving…

Closer still… Sharing. Nurturing…

Preserving.

…

It'd been the right decision.

…

It'd saved his life. Won his freedom…

…

…Yet, that same choice— A choice which had salvaged his existence. —Had also, ultimately… Doomed him…

There was no escape. Not then. Not ever.

…

…drugging heat in a bitter cold…

…he'd pulled it TOO close…

The wraith hissed, a shaky whisper, shocked mind basking in remembered warmth. He was holding it again. Drowning. Heat radiating against his palm. Delicious. Inaccessible. It invaded his senses, illuminated awareness. He could almost touch it… Almost taste—

…trapped…

Green eyes snapped open, focusing with difficulty. Black leather shivered as reality materialized. The cushion. Its benign warmth under his hand… That was the present. His attention drifted to the caged emotions. The fear was gone, vanquished by the neurochemical shift's successful completion. The trapped, panicky feelings remained. Glowing. Insistent. But bearable. Endurable…

For now…

…But how much longer?

He could already feel Priority stir. Responding. Urging. Quietly suggesting he act. Wheedling, insisting—

"Hiiiiiiiisssssssssssssssss!" The wraith thrust the growing compulsion down. He was in no condition to move. Any exploits undertaken now would end disastrously.

He must wait. Recover his strength…

…trapped…

Shaken, the wraith drove the disturbing panic back to its cage. Forcefully reinforced the mental walls… Priority protested. Clarity surged, crackling through his mind like electricity. The fog numbing his thoughts lifted…

He shook his head, blinking rapidly in surprise. The organic contours of his personal quarters swam into focus easily.

…The shock was dissipating.

Pale lips twitched with fleeting irony as amusement glimmered. One shock displaced by another… How unexpected.

…And yet… How ineffectively useless. His non-feeding hand hung by his face, stalled on an impromptu journey to brush errant strands of hair from view. The wraith stared at it. His thin fingers trembled erratically. The sleeve's black leather bracer quivered like a primitive combustion motor…

Eyes widening, he felt himself list. Toppling… Muscles buckled, struggling without extra support…

The wraith quickly dropped his hand and propped himself up, cursing his continued weakness with a disgusted hiss. Air still shook in his lungs. Tremors still wracked his limbs. Exhaustion assailed his awareness. It was maddening!

But his mind WAS clear now.

THAT was something, at least…

Or rather…

…it was a start.

The wraith sat, unsteady fingers gripping the edge of his sleeping pallet. Its warmth, a clean, living taste, bled reassuringly into his still-open feeding slit… He allowed the indulgence. Welcomed the temporary comfort it provided. Anything that might hasten the retreat of this debilitating shock was welcome.

He extended his injection hooks and released enzyme, raising the cushion's temperature once more. Then he waited…

…In…

…tremble…

…

…Out…

…tremble…

…

Restlessness infused his thoughts. Urging movement. Action. The wraith examined the phenomenon. Suspected its origins… Found he was right.

He hissed, bolstering his resolve with a determined blink. The dictates of Priority would be satisfied. MUST be satisfied. But they MUST also be satisfied in a way that ensured survival. That required thought. Planning. Foresight.

…Strength…

To attempt action without strength or mental exercise meant failure. Death.

Neither was acceptable.

Acknowledging the insistent drive of Priority, the wraith thrust aside the instinctual need and boxed it up. He was a rational, thinking being. Tolerating the growing impulse would eventually lead to potentially fatal distraction.

Instinct was his guide. Not his master.

He waited…

…Listening.

…

…In…

…tremble…

…

…Out…

…tremble…

…

No disturbance this time…

As it should be.

Sighing with satisfaction, the wraith pressed his palm closer to the soothing warmth and stilled his thoughts, preparing for the task at hand. His mind had always been his greatest weapon. Now that it was clear, he could use it.

He focused on his present dilemma. Visualized his obstacles. Calculated likely threats…

…In…

…tremble…

…

…Out…

…tremble…

…

Ivory strands swayed, quivering with each halting breath.

His goal sparkled with mental clarity. His purpose…

…was the satisfaction of Priority. Beyond that…?

Unknown.

"Hiiiissssss…"

…In…

…tremble…

…

…Out…

…tremble…

…

The wraith's green eyes drifted down, alighting on a point slightly left of the doorframe's chitin base. A myriad of paths slowly illuminated. Which was best?

He began to think…

-------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading! Please review! Again, things I'm working on specifically are: 1. Maintaining a Season 1 feel in the flashback chapters. 2. Keeping the regulars in character.

As we're getting further into the plot, I'll now add a three to this list.

3. Making the new and different, (and/or bizarre), things that happen seem realistic and believable.


	14. Chapter 13: Excursion Part 1

First off:

**I apologize profusely for the enormous delay in getting this chapter out! This story is NOT dead!  
**

I've just been busier than than usual, and it's made the writing mindset hard to come by. Now that I'm back in the swing of things, it should come easier. I will do my best to make sure I don't repeat this gap. Hopefully the excessive length of this puppy will appease those of you've been feeling Steve-deprived.

And second off:

As you may or may not have noticed, I am changing the rating of this story. I called it M when I started because I wasn't sure which direction parts mights go, but since then I've decided to keep it within the spirit of the TV show. As such, I will be writing as if it were airing on TV, and the content will, (hopefully), stay within the family-friendly SGA time-slots. I'm sorry if this disappoints anyone, but it's a challenge I've set for myself.

And now, without further ado...

Happy reading! I hope it was worth the wait!

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.

**Chapter Thirteen: Excursion – Part One**

_**3 years, 47 and ½ weeks earlier**_

"Hypothetically speaking. If you had a secret underground base, which you didn't want anyone to know about, would you lock the entrance when you left to run missions on the surface?"

Coat rustling, Steve glanced warily at Dr. McKay and kept walking. "Is there some sort of," his lips twitched with a suspicious chuff, "trick to this question?"

"No! Of course n—" Rodney paused, then jogged to catch up, wearing a sly grin. "Why? Do you think I'm trying to trick you?"

No response. The wraith's wariness visibly increased.

"Why would I do that?" continued Rodney, "No, wait," his grin widened, "Why would I WANT to do that?"

Steve snorted and looked away, eyes darting to his marine escort.

Hiding a smile, Major Sheppard faced forward and pretended he didn't notice.

"Are you accusing me of being deceitful?" McKay's voice had taken on a familiar note of smug triumph.

Quickly repressed disgust flickered on the wraith's mouth. "No."

"Are you sure? 'Cause that's what it sounds like you were implying."

"You are mistaken. Such an implication was not my intention."

"Ah!" Pointing rudely, Dr. McKay put on an expression of feigned indignation and loaded his words with mock-offense, "Are you questioning my verbal competency?!"

Chuffing irritably, Steve shook head and growled, "No!"

"Are you sure? 'Cause that's what it sou—"

"I am NOT questioning your competency."

"Don't interrupt!" The pointed finger shook reprovingly, "Interrupting is disrespectful to the person talking. Is what I'm saying not worth listening to?"

A low hiss emanated from the wraith. Then… "I did not say that."

"Are you sure? 'Cause—"

Unable to hide his amusement any longer, Sheppard chuckled and turned to scan the horizon. The forest concealing M1X-347's abandoned wraith base loomed in the distance. He could see Teyla picking her way through the rocky fields, far ahead, maintaining a comfortable distance between herself and the security escort. Their guides, Dr. Corde and Private Laris, (also unnerved by the wraith), trailed after her, chatting excitedly and occasionally detouring over, (as opposed to around), large boulders.

Wondering how far they'd come, Sheppard looked back. Lieutenant Ford was paralleling him a few yards away, and the hill with the Stargate…

…Was almost as far away as the forest. He pursed his lips, estimating they had, roughly, another forty-five minutes of hiking 'til they reached the base.

"Hah! You're questioning my intelligence now!"

A sharp, defensive chuff, "I assure you that is not the case."

Major Sheppard sighed ruefully. Forty-five more minutes of listening to McKay's absurd comedy routine…

"So you're saying I'm mistaken. Is that it?"

"No."

"So I must have HEARD wrong. You think I'm deaf."

"I did not say that either." A low, growling hiss.

McKay's strident tone abruptly turned cheerful, "I'm sorry. Am I annoying you?"

Sharing a glance with Ford, who gave him a, 'I wouldn't touch that with a ten-foot pole,' look, Sheppard held his breath and waited for the wraith's reply.

There wasn't one. Sensing the double-edged trap, Steve narrowed his eyes and stalked between the rocks in silence, wisely keeping his mouth shut.

"Oh, so you're ignoring me now."

Sheppard exhaled in relief, thankful McKay hadn't pressed the issue. …Yet.

"I was merely taking time to formulate my response."

"Are you saying I'm impatient?"

As the prisoner deflected this latest accusation, Major Sheppard slowed his pace and pushed through a clump of tall grass, drifting slowly towards Lieutenant Ford. When McKay had first fallen back to walk alongside the security escort, he'd been pleased. He'd thought that, given the impending collaboration, Rodney was taking the initiative and attempting to open up a constructive dialogue with the wraith. Maybe even preparing himself to work in close proximity to the alien…

"You still haven't answered my question, Steve."

A low hiss, "And which question would that be, Dr. McKay?"

A disbelieving laugh, "The one about the underground base, of course."

Or maybe Rodney had decided a restrained, outwardly cooperative, and so far apparently honest, wraith was preferable to the bunch of sneaky, lying, back-stabbing, radioactive Amish warriors they'd so recently discovered…

"You know? For a supposedly intelligent scientist, you can be incredibly slow sometimes. Maybe staying in that cell is sucking out your IQ points…"

But no. Dr. McKay had merely reviewed the security footage of Sheppard making his deal with the prisoner, and had taken notice of the details of its conditions. One in particular had caught his attention. "If you help with the computer without **deliberately** offending McKay…" Emphasis on 'deliberately.'

Rodney had been trying to catch the wraith in an insult ever since.

This had worried Sheppard at first. Provoking an alien predator that's many times stronger and faster than you is generally a BAD idea, and he'd had no idea how their prisoner would react to the needling. Steve was nothing if not unpredictable.

However… Sheppard's fears had soon been alleviated.

"I am afraid, Dr. McKay, that I must respectfully disagree with your hypothesis."

"Are you saying that I'm wrong?"

"No. I am merely saying that I do not agree. You may believe what you wish."

The wraith was being militantly civil. Nothing McKay said riled him. And his posture, (as far as Sheppard could tell from his relatively limited experience with wraith body language), was open and deferential. (Though definitely not submissive…) He was almost inclined to believe Steve was taking the excessive pestering as a challenge…

"Are you accusing me of being unwilling to face reality!?"

A confused snort. Then… "What?"

Almost inclined. The wary, somewhat hesitant glances being intermittently thrown Sheppard's way suggested the wraith wasn't entirely sure WHAT he was doing with McKay. And some, (like the one being cast his way now, for example), might easily have been construed as silent pleas for intervention.

"You're accusing me of being unrealistic!"

"I assure you, that was not my intention."

Yeah! That look! That silent, unsure look… Like a dog person with a cat in his lap. Unwilling to be rude, but fervently hoping its owner will take it away…

It almost made Sheppard feel sorry for Steve.

"What're you looking at him for?"

"No particular reason…"

Well, tough. Sheppard had no desire to interfere with the deal-imposed, verbal handicap. Yet. Let McKay get a few points in. If it made him feel safer about collaborating, so much the better. Just so long as he didn't succeed in pissing Steve off. Or stray into the abuse zone. Cruel and unusual punishment, and all that…

"You know. It's rude not to look at people when they're talking to you."

"Would you prefer that I stare constantly?"

"No, actually… But you still haven't answered my question!"

Loosely cradling his P-90, Major Sheppard nonchalantly fell into step beside Ford. Offhandedly he asked, "Any sign of man-eating beasts, Lieutenant?"

"Other than Steve, Sir?"

Sheppard pursed his lips, "I don't think Steve really counts as a beast."

Ford shrugged skeptically, "If you say so, Sir."

"I do say so." A beast would've mauled McKay by now.

"In that case, no, Sir."

"Good. I haven't seen any either." Sheppard jerked his head towards the eight marines surrounding the solitary wraith, and the chattering scientist dogging their every step. He lowered his voice, "Have you heard what's going on back there?"

Aiden grinned, "Almost impossible not to, Sir."

Sheppard leaned closer, surreptitiously whispering, "I can't believe Steve's still conscious. Hell, I'd have punched McKay by now."

"Yeah… Me too." Ford quickly added, "With permission, of course."

The Major 'hmmmed' thoughtfully. "You know? If he weren't a giant, life-sucking alien bug… I think, I'd be rather inclined to give it…"

The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe not."

A sharp hiss split the early morning air. Steve's calm, multi-tonal voice carried crisply over the grassy, granite-strewn field surrounding M1X-347's Stargate. "To answer your question, Dr. McKay. If I possessed a secret underground base, and wished for it to remain secret, I would lock the entrance when I visited the surface."

"Hah!" Breaking into a wide grin, Rodney brandished his life-signs detector like a flag and jogged to the other side of the wraith's escort. He stared about, announcing triumphantly, "See?! I was right! Even the WRAITH agrees with me!"

Rolling his eyes, Sheppard called back, "Everyone agrees with you, Rodney."

"Yeah," Aiden concurred, "Those guys were careless."

"Ridiculously careless," the Major clarified.

Undeterred, Dr. McKay laughed, "It's funny. You'd think someone smart enough to take us hostage would be smart enough not to be discovered in the first place…" He laughed again, clasped the life-signs detector to his chest, then sobered, "But that's not the point. The point is, the WRAITH agrees with me."

"Of course he agrees with you!" Sheppard was getting irritated. "He's an intelligent being. How'd you expect him to answer?"

"Actually, I do not agree with Dr. McKay."

Eleven startled gazes snapped to the wraith.

Under his captors' scrutiny, Steve narrowed his eyes. His black, facetted shoulders glittered brightly under M1X-347's sun as he deftly picked his way through the knee-high, yellow grass. He hissed softly, "Not entirely, anyway…"

"Excuse me?" spluttered Rodney.

Steve blinked, "I WOULD lock the entrance behind me. However," he lifted his chin, avoiding McKay's clumsy attempt to make eye contact by staring smugly at the looming tree line, "I would also camouflage it."

"I suppose they did do that…" Sheppard muttered.

"They did?" Lieutenant Ford glanced his way, surprised.

"Well, there was this haystack…" He frowned, "More of a hay pile, really—"

"I would fill the area surrounding the entrance with traps—"

"Hey, McKay. You see any traps, yesterday?"

Disgusted, Rodney looked at the Major in confusion, "What? No! Why?"

"Just checking."

"—I would camouflage the traps—"

"You fall IN any traps, yesterday?"

"NO! Did you SEE me fall in a trap yesterday?!"

"Just making sure."

"—And then," Steve announced, "I would place the entire area under surveillance."

Dr. McKay and Major Sheppard just looked at each other.

"I take it that's a no," Ford guessed.

Within his circle of watchful marines, Steve delicately brushed strands of windblown hair out of his face and smoothed the immaculate front of his long coat. Then he clasped his hands behind his back and straightened, exuding an air of satisfied finality.

"Would that be internal or external surveillance?"

Narrowed, olive eyes darted briefly to McKay. "Both."

"What sort of traps?"

A low hiss, "Ones suitable for the terrain and circumsta—"

"Lethal or non-lethal?"

An eerie silence… Steve's pale, alien face swung slowly towards Dr. McKay.

For no reason he could name, Major Sheppard suddenly felt alarm bells going off.

"Well? Which is it?"

The wraith's lips twitched, expelling a soft chuff, "I could hardly interrogate trespassers if I ki—"

"So it's NON-lethal. Huh. Interesting."

The narrowed, olive eyes widened. Sheppard's alarm bells became blaring klaxons as Steve cocked his head, baring his translucent teeth in an amiable smile. "Forgive me if I seem impertinent Dr. McKay—"

Dr. McKay tutted smugly, "I believe I'll reserve my judgment until after the fact."

"—but did you not inform me earlier that interrupting is disrespectful to the person talking?"

"What exactly are you insinuating?"

A low, almost pleasant hiss issued from the wraith, and Major Sheppard winced, willing Rodney to shut up. "I'm insinuating nothing. I merely wished to clarify the meaning of your statement by pointing out—"

"Are you accusing me of being vague?"

Crap! Didn't Rodney recognize that look?!

"—that you have just interrupted me four times."

Adopting an attitude of feigned outrage and poorly hidden triumph, the oblivious scientist glared at Steve indignantly, "Are you saying I'm rude?!"

How could Rodney NOT recognize that look!? Steve had worn it the entire time he was insulting McKay in the holding cell…! How could he NOT RECOGNIZE IT!?!

"Your… insinuation, Dr. McKay. Not mine. I am merely pointing out discrepancies," a short hiss, "between your words and actions."

Tripping over a rock in surprise, McKay stared at the smiling wraith, a combination of disbelief and confusion warring over his face. The victory he was apparently being offered seemed to have frozen his tongue.

"This isn't good, Sir," Ford warned, watching uneasily.

"No," Sheppard agreed, "No, it's not." Why couldn't things be easy?

Tongue thawing, Rodney lowered his voice and said, in a deliberately goading, yet warning, tone, "Are you accusing me of being a hypocrite?"

With a curling, sinuous motion, Steve straightened and drew himself up. His eyes swept over the top of McKay's head, and fastened on Sheppard. He held the Major's gaze for a beat. Then the olive orbs slid slowly down and skewered McKay.

They widened, ever so slightly…

In that instant, the amiable smile vanished as quickly as it'd appeared, and Sheppard knew—Knew with a sense of absolute certainty. Beyond a shadow of a doubt.—That the next word to come out of the wraith's toothy mouth would be, "Yes."

And in the following instant, as Steve inhaled for the purpose of uttering said word, Sheppard realized, with an equal sense of supernatural certainty, that he didn't want to deal with the consequences of the wraith saying, "Yes."

Aw, Hell! "Okay, that's it!" Sheppard angled towards the security escort, trampling a bush in his haste to intercept. "I've had enough of this game. You!" He pointed at Rodney, feeling like he was reprimanding a kid, "Stop baiting the wraith. And you!" His finger swung towards Steve, "Remember our agreement. Stay civil."

Steve backed down, respectfully inclining his head. His eyes narrowed submissively. "Of course, Major Sheppard." Ivory swayed as the chastised prisoner skirted a large rock, deliberately placing it between himself and McKay.

Rodney, however, spluttered indignantly and loudly proclaimed his innocence. "We were just having a friendly conversation!"

"Is THAT what that was? Coulda fooled me."

"What's that supposed to mean!?"

Not dignifying the outburst with a reply, Major Sheppard stalked past the argumentative scientist and strode for the forest with renewed vigor. Lieutenant Ford followed in his wake, trying not to grin at McKay as they passed.

-------------------------------------------------

**Meanwhile…**

"The data's incredible, Elizabeth!"

Dr. Weir raised an eyebrow, "I should hope so. Dr. Zelenka spent a lot of personal time putting that set-up together."

"Well, 'e did a bang up job o' it." Smiling appreciatively, Carson slipped into the chair facing the expedition leader's desk, "We can see everythin'. Pinpoint the exact moment the signals start affectin' him. Trace reactions and stimuli across various structures o' his brain." He shook his head in wonder, "Ah'll say again. It's bloody incredible. If we had tha' sort o' equipment on Earth—"

"We'd know a lot more about our own brains than we do now." Elizabeth sighed and smiled ruefully. "But, sadly, that is not the case."

"Aye. Tha' ancient machine's the key."

"Even if the Stargate program wasn't classified, we've no way of shipping it back." Atlantis was completely cut off from Earth…

Carson looked alarmed, "Ah would'nae want to if we did. Ah'm goin' to be gettin' a lot o' use from it. Ah intend to guard tha' machine jealously."

Dr. Weir's smile brightened with amusement. "I'll have to keep that in mind." Shifting gears, she clasped her hands over the pile of reports on her desk. "So. What've you got? I'll admit, I wasn't expecting to hear results this quickly."

"They're only preliminary results, really…" Removing a paper from his clipboard, Dr. Beckett passed it to Elizabeth. "It'll take many days, maybe weeks, to analyze everythin'." She glanced at him in surprise. "Ah know. Sounds long." Beckett smiled sheepishly, "We collected a LOT o' data." Clearing his throat, he got down to business, "By observing electrical activity in the prisoner's brain, we've confirmed tha' the artifacts are capable o' emittin' three separate telepathic signals."

"Not two, like the prisoner suspected?"

"No. Definitely three," Carson confirmed, "However, ah will say tha' two o' 'em appear to be closely related."

Dr. Weir 'hmmm'ed thoughtfully, "And do those two do—"

"Wha' Steve told Sheppard they might do?" Carson nodded, "Aye. Assuming our map o' the major functions o' the wraith brain is correct, they do exactly wha' Steve said they would." He paused, leaning forward earnestly, "An' tha' brings up my next point. The similarities between the prisoner's brain an' our own."

"I take it you found a few," Elizabeth guessed.

"More'n a few," Dr. Beckett's enthusiasm bubbled in his voice, "Shape an' size are virtually identical, an' the placement o' sensory processin' is basically the same."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed, "How is that possible? They evolved in a different galaxy. From insects, I believe your reports mentioned."

"Aye, they did. From the Iratus bug. However, all the samples o' wraith tissue we've acquired contain extensive traces o' human DNA." Seeing Dr. Weir frown, Carson quickly continued, "Ah've been explorin' theories to explain the phenomenon. An' ah'm currently leanin' towards one tha' assumes an inherent instability in the structure o' Iratus DNA."

Sitting back in her chair, Dr. Weir pursed her lips, recalling the details of Carson's earlier reports. "You're referring to the idea that Iratus bugs absorb the DNA of their prey into their cells in discrete units instead of digesting it completely."

Carson grinned, "Exactly. An' over time bugs tha' fed on humans acquired human DNA, began expressin' human traits, an' evolved into the wraith."

"And this data supports that theory." It was not a question.

"Strongly. Even just about confirms it." Beckett's fingers tapped excitedly on his clipboard. "In fact, given this new evidence, ah'd go so far as to say tha' our species' large brain capacity is likely the first trait the Iratus stole from us."

"Really?" Elizabeth raised an expectant eyebrow.

Her inquiring look was met by a sincere nod, "Wha' good are opposable thumbs if ye don' possess the intelligence required to use 'em?"

Good point. "What use, indeed…" Filing this information away for future reference, Weir steered away from the looming digression. "So, our prisoner's brain is similar to our own… Does that mean it works similarly?"

"To soon to tell." Dr. Beckett shrugged, "My guess is both yes, an' no."

"Explain, please," Elizabeth pressed, amused by the vagueness.

"While the basic structure o' his brain is the same, the way it's wired is not. Wraith 'ave the same senses as us. But they 'ave others as well. Senses passed down from their Iratus ancestors. We've no way o' tellin', as yet, how incorporatin' those senses into a mammalian brain affects neural processin'. The same goes fer emotion. We've no way o' knowin' which human-derived feelings wraith possess. Either along with, or in place o', the Iratus emotions. They may even be blended—"

"So what you're saying," Dr. Weir interrupted before her mind got tangled in the convoluted web of Carson's explanation, "is that the differences are extensive too."

"Aye," Beckett shrugged ruefully, "At least as extensive as the similarities. 'E's got an entire extra set o' lobes devoted to telepathic processin'. Ah cannot begin to imagine at this point how tha' affects his perceptions. The data suggests they're pervasively, an' intimately, connected to every other part o' his mind."

"And that's just an obvious difference…" Leaning forward again, Elizabeth rested her elbows on the reports and propped her chin on her knuckles, expression pensive. She glanced at Carson, "I assume there are other, subtler ones?"

"Undoubtedly," he confirmed. "Dr. Kaile has flagged several areas o' interest already. An' ah'm sure we'll find others further into our analysis."

"Can you give me an example?"

Dr. Beckett indicated the paper he'd passed her earlier. "Ah listed a few in my overview." An excited glint entered his eyes, "But since ye asked, our prisoner's self-awareness, an' control over his mind, are both quite remarkable." Warming to the topic, he continued eagerly, "The meditation data's particularly impressive. Ah'd like to study it in more detail. Maybe run a second experiment, specifically focu—"

"Let's finish the current study before we start planning others." Smiling to soften the reprimand, Elizabeth retrieved and quickly scanned Beckett's paper. Her eyes widened as she read the first line. "I completely forgot. You said you confirmed the presence of three signals. What does the third do?"

"Oh, sorry. Ah must've jumped ahead o' myself." Carson leaned back in his chair, resting the clipboard in his lap, "The third signal suppresses impulse control."

Elizabeth grimaced, "Sounds nasty."

"Very nasty. Especially considerin' the predatory instincts our subject undoubtedly possesses."

"Good thing he's well fed," Dr. Weir smiled at her joke, then turned serious, meshing this new information with what she knew of the first two signals. "So the artifacts sense a wraith and start broadcasting. They make him want to touch them. They stop him from questioning 'why' he wants to touch them. And, finally, when he experiences the urge to do so, they prevent him from stopping himself."

Carson nodded, "Tha' about sums it up."

Frowning skeptically, Elizabeth raised a perplexed eyebrow. "Doesn't that strike you as a bit overkill? We're talking about what is, basically, a pair of pliers."

"Aye, tha' thought has occurred to me." Paper rustled as Dr. Beckett clasped his hands on his clipboard, regarding the expedition leader seriously, "An' it leads me to suspect tha' these tools are more important than we originally thought. Their capabilities may extend far beyond wha' any o' us, includin' our prisoner, predicted."

Dr. Weir eyed her chief medical doctor appraisingly. "You're getting at something, Carson…"

He smiled sheepishly, "Is it tha' obvious?"

She smiled back, nodding for him to continue.

"Right. Ah suppose it is." Knowing the controversial nature of what he was about to suggest, Carson cleared his throat once more. "Ah want to perform a second study. Scan Steve in the presence o' the tools again."

Elizabeth was confused. "I thought you said last night that the signals' cumulative effects make it too dangerous to do another study like that?"

"Only if his mind is open, and the signals are present."

"Would his mind BE open?"

Carson nodded, "For part o' it, aye."

"Then I assume the signals won't be present."

"No, they'll be present. But only for a brief period. Then they'll go away."

Wary now, Dr. Weir skewered Carson with a suspicious stare. "And why," she pressed, "would the signals suddenly go away?"

Taking a deep breath, Dr. Beckett squared his shoulders and confidently met Elizabeth's penetrating, chocolate eyes. "'Cause they won't need to attract a host anymore. Ah want to study Steve while he's lettin' the organic tools feed."

-------------------------------------------------

**Meanwhile…**

"Why is this planet not a barren wasteland?"

Dr. Corde, who'd taken it upon himself to explain M1X-347's predator problem to the wraith, glanced from the clawed boulder they'd discovered to the circle of marines. Framed by watchful human faces, the prisoner blinked expectantly at him. "Actually, that's a fascinating question. There shouldn't be any life here."

A few feet away, Major Sheppard skeptically pushed a branch out of his face, saying, "Really? Coulda fooled me…"

The scientist ignored the comment. "Because of the exceptionally long day and night cycles, this world should alternate between blazing desert and frigid tundra conditions. This temperate forest we're walking through shouldn't exist."

Dappled shadows shifted across Steve's hair as he tilted his head, "Yet, it does..."

"Indeed it does." Dr. Corde looked up, taking in the leafy canopy that shouldn't have existed above them. "According to Atlantis's database, there's a bizarre, but regular, wobble in this planet's axis. This wobble, combined with the planet's natural tendency towards uneven heat distribution—"

"He's referring to a habitable world's three standard environments," interrupted Dr. McKay, for the marines' benefit, "Ice caps, equator, and temperate zones."

"—has, over time, created a complex system of powerful currents in the upper atmosphere. These currents redistribute the planet's heat energy, warming the planet at night while simultaneously cooling it during the day."

"Sorta like an air conditioner…" Sheppard murmured.

McKay snorted, "A massive, planet-wide air conditioner, yes."

Plucking a twig from the shade-loving bush by his knee, Dr. Corde rolled the sprig of yellow flowers between his fingers. "The end result, as everyone can see, is a surprisingly even, and unexpectedly stable, temperature distribution. It really is quite amazing." Looking at Steve, Corde stepped closer to the escort. He glanced at the nearest marines, one of whom was Private Laris, before leaning towards the captive conspiratorially. Steve tilted his face the other way, chuffing quizzically. "Believe it or not, where we're standing, on any other world, would be a polar ice cap."

A soft hiss filtered through the trees as Steve blinked. "I see…"

"A polar ice cap?" Major Sheppard stared at the verdant greenery with consternation. "Really? Doesn't look like one."

"Did you hear any part of what he just said?"

"Yeah, Rodney. I heard all of it." Frowning, Sheppard examined their surroundings with new interest. The air currents he'd known about. They made it too dangerous to bring a jumper. (Not that they could've landed in the dense forest anyway.) But the arctic part… That he hadn't heard. "So…" he drifted towards Dr. Corde, hoping to draw the scientist's attention away from the wraith. Their party had pulled together upon entering the reduced visibility of the trees, and unlike Teyla, Corde had quickly overcome his fear of being near the captive. His hesitant overtures had received favorable responses, and he was now acting comfortable near the wraith. TOO comfortable, in Sheppard's opinion. The man was too damn friendly for his own good. "What happens if this planet-wide air conditioner breaks down?"

Flowers lowering, Corde turned to Major Sheppard in surprise. "It's not going to break down. The prevailing weather patterns are completely stable."

"And how do we know that?"

"'Cause the ancient database says so," Dr. McKay interrupted. Following Sheppard, he sighed long-sufferingly, "Look, this planet's been this way for millions of years. Maybe billions. How else could all these temperate-zone species have evolved?"

"Oh, I don't know," Sheppard mused, "maybe they evolved in the temperate zone. And then, once the climate changed, migrated."

Rodney opened his mouth, and snapped it shut, fidgeting.

"I suppose that's possible," he finally admitted.

A familiar, multi-tonal voice cut smoothly over the reluctant admission. "Such occurrences after extreme climate shifts are common."

Rounding on the source of the voice, Dr. McKay shot its owner an annoyed glare. Within the circle of marines, Steve narrowed his eyes and looked away, leather rustling.

Sheppard suppressed a groan. Even with the civility agreement, they were needling each other… Or, rather, Steve was needling Rodney. Every other thing he said aggravated the scientist. And whether it was intentional or not, (Sheppard suspected it was), there was nothing he could do about it. The wraith was still being excessively polite and inoffensive. He hadn't DONE anything. (Except for that time Sheppard had stopped them, but that didn't count. McKay had had it coming.) Perversely, however, it was the very act of NOT doing anything that was pissing Rodney off. Steve HAD to have figured that out. And if there was one thing Sheppard had learned during the weeks before they'd found the glove, it was that the wraith was extremely skilled at being passive-aggressive. He elevated the behavior to an art form.

And McKay was making it so easy…

…Maybe Sheppard shouldn't have stopped them… It was possible Steve had interpreted his intervention as a called bluff, instead of irritated laziness…

The crackling of twigs and the soft swish of displaced branches drew everyone's attention, and Major Sheppard turned, thankful for the distraction.

"'Bout time," he quipped, seeing Teyla and Lieutenant Ford emerge from the shadowy underbrush, "I was starting to think something ate ya."

"Not yet, Sir."

"Well, there's always next time." Shooting a warning glance at McKay, who sighed heavily before grudgingly NOT resuming his glaring, Sheppard meandered towards his returning team members. "So, what've we got?"

Teyla's eyes ran over the group, lingering briefly on Dr. Corde and the wraith. Frowning slightly, she nodded back the way they'd come, "The tracks do not turn in the direction of the base, as we'd feared. Whatever made them moved further east."

Sheppard smiled at the Athosian, "I love good news." He looked over his shoulder, at the marines, "Don't we love good news?" A chorus of 'Yes, Sirs' met his words. "And ya know what?" He spun on his heel, decisively facing the route to the wraith base. "East is a great direction. Let's go north."

Ford grinned, and Teyla looked amused. "Yes, Sir. North it is."

The Lieutenant fell into step behind Sheppard, and the security escort solidified its formation, waiting for the prisoner. At a sharp look from Mckay, Dr. Corde jumped slightly. Absently passing the sprig of flowers to Private Laris, he hastened to catch up as his superior followed Sheppard towards the underbrush.

A low hiss sounded. "Female!"

Several of the marines, including Laris, looked at the wraith. Staring intently beyond his circle of captors, Steve hissed again, ignoring them. His oval-pupiled eyes were fixed on Teyla, who was moving ahead to take point.

Feeling the scrutiny, the Pegasus native stopped.

Behind her, Sheppard paused warily. Aside from their brief gathering in the Gateroom, this was the closest Teyla had been to the wraith since his capture. Steve had made no move to address her then, and she'd entered the Stargate first, and had been scouting ever since. She hadn't actually interacted with him yet…

Another hiss, louder, more insistent.

Squaring her shoulders, the Athosian woman turned to face the prisoner, caramel hair swinging resolutely. She met his unblinking stare defiantly.

"My name is Teyla Emmagen," Teyla stated coldly.

"Teyla…" Steve rolled the word around, as if testing it, and cocked his head with a hiss, watching her.

A frown furrowed her brow. "Yes."

The wraith's green eyes slipped closed for a moment, then opened again. "You were present during my capture."

"How observant," Dr. McKay muttered. Sheppard hushed him with a glare as Teyla raised an eyebrow.

"That is correct," she confirmed coolly.

Steve's multi-toned voice lifted thoughtfully. "This is the first time I have seen you since that day…"

Shooting the Major a puzzled glance, Teyla stepped closer to the security escort. Shadows dappled her toffee-skinned shoulders as she moved across the mossy ground. The wraith straightened, pale face tilting the other way as he watched the small, but deceptively strong, woman advance. Halting by a clawed rock, a few arm lengths from Private Laris, Teyla studied the prisoner in expectant silence, waiting…

Just as silently, Steve studied her back.

Sheppard was suddenly, and uneasily, reminded of the wraith's capture. The black-coated predator looming over his teammate, ready to feed. He'd had Teyla completely at his mercy. Yet now their positions were reversed… (Except for the feeding part, of course. And Teyla didn't have the authority to kill him.)

"What is this? A staring contest?" McKay griped.

"So it would appear." Glancing briefly at Rodney, the Athosian refocused on white-haired alien staring down at her. Her dark eyes bored into his. "Was there something in particular you wished to discuss with me?"

Narrowing his eyes, Steve expelled a soft chuff of air. "No." He leaned towards her, baring his translucent teeth, "For now, I merely wished to take a closer look at you."

Teyla lifted her chin. "Then we are done here." Turning on her heel, the Athosian strode back into the underbrush, efficiently retaking her point position. She nodded to Dr. Corde as she passed, "If you'd be so kind as to resume guiding me?"

Casting a regretful glance at the wraith, Corde hastened after her. "Of course! We're almost there. It should be just beyond the next high ridge."

Behind them, glancing from Teyla, to Steve, and back, Dr. McKay waved his life-signs detector about in bewilderment, "What the Hell was that?"

Slipping past the scientist, Lieutenant Ford shrugged, "Beats me." He pushed a branch up, holding it so Rodney could pass, "At least they didn't insult each other."

McKay followed indignantly, "What exactly are you insinuating?"

"Nothing," Aiden grinned, "Absolutely, nothing."

"Why do I NOT believe you?"

As his bickering teammates moved further into the shadowy forest, Major Sheppard hung back, waiting for the security escort. "Let's move out, people."

Nodding, Private Laris passed the sprig of flowers Corde had given her to Lieutenant Geerman and started forward. Geerman eyed the yellow buds in confusion before hastily handing them off to Private Sheere, who in turn, rolled his eyes in disgust and tossed them aside, like he'd done with every other piece of random vegetation Dr. Corde had passed them. Also following the established pattern, Steve snapped out his feeding hand and snatched the flowers before they hit the ground.

Giving a disdainful snort as the marines in the rear urged him forward, the wraith lifted the sprig for examination and started walking.

Sheppard watched the prisoner study his acquisition with interest. First Steve swept his cheek past the specimen. (Not the specimen past his cheek. That would've been too easy. The flowers, bizarrely enough, remained stationary.) The delicate, sinuous motion was promptly repeated with the wraith's other cheek. Then, exhaling past his teeth, the sensory orifices on either side of his nose widened slightly and Steve swung his face frontward, deeply inhaling the flowers' scent.

Apparently finding the aroma acceptable, Steve eyed the tiny petals critically and started to inhale again. He paused mid-breath, noting Sheppard's scrutiny.

The Major stared innocently, "Don't mind me."

An amused hiss. "You find my actions intriguing?"

"Not really. It's just, I've seen plenty of forests before. It gets a little boring watching the same thing all the time."

"I see…" The wraith's olive eyes held Sheppard's a moment, then slid forward, gazing after the distant forms of Dr. McKay and Lieutenant Ford. Corde and Teyla were barely visible, slim figures fleetingly appearing between tree trunks. Steve snorted softly. Ivory swayed and black coat panels flapped as he smoothly ducked a low-hanging branch. "The one you call Teyla is not pleased by my presence."

Wondering at the comment, Sheppard shrugged indifferently, "Well, seeing as your relatives have already eaten several of her relatives, that's not terribly surprising."

Steve chuckled darkly, causing several marines to glance uneasily at him. The yellow flowers rotated as he rolled their stem through gloved fingers. After a pause, he continued, "She does not approve of your methods for handling me."

Major Sheppard sidestepped a clump of gnarled roots and turned his tone deliberately flip, "That's just 'cause she doesn't know you the way I do." Which was true. Teyla's people had had a lot more encounters with wraith than the Earth humans. And those experiences were all negative. He frowned, blue eyes darting to the captive suspiciously, "Why the sudden interest in Teyla?"

Ignoring the warning note, Steve tilted his head and expelled a sharp chuff, decisively meeting Sheppard's gaze. "In the future," he hissed, "you would be wise to heed her advice when dealing with others of my kind."

The Major's frown deepened at the implication, and he raised his eyebrows, staring at the wraith challengingly. "But not when dealing with you?"

Lips drawing back in a brief smile, Steve narrowed his eyes with a snort and looked away, apparently declining to answer.

Well that was just great. Sheppard stared at the enigmatic prisoner with vexation. No one in the universe should have the right to make cryptic comments like that!

"You realize that if I'd heeded her advice, you wouldn't be here right now?"

Another snort, equally unreadable.

Sheppard fumed inwardly, wondering what new psychological tactic the wraith was employing. Was he actively advising Sheppard NOT to trust him? Or was he serious about the 'others' distinction? Had they established an understanding solid enough to support such a distinction? Or was Steve offering intelligence as an indirect apology for upsetting Rodney? Of course, there was always the possibility that the comment was deliberately designed to confuse… In which case, it was working.

Grimacing, Major Sheppard decided to drop the matter. They were here for computers, not mind games.

The quiet stillness of M1X-347's forest was suddenly broken by the static crackling of nine radios. "Major Sheppard, this is Teyla. Come in, please."

Quickening his pace, Sheppard dodged a rock and tapped his earpiece, concerned by the urgency in the Athosian's voice, "Go ahead, Teyla."

"Dr. Corde and I have reached the base. There has been a disturbance here."

Steve's oval-pupils slid towards Sheppard with interest.

The Major ignored the scrutiny, "What sort of disturbance?"

"From our position, I can see tracks and claw marks," Teyla replied, "Among other recent signs of predator activity."

"How recent?"

The Athosian paused, "I would guess, within the last several hours. Possibly as late as early dawn." There was another pause, punctuated by muffled whispering. Teyla spoke again, "Dr. Corde wishes to tell you that he is not picking up any life-signs."

That was a plus, at least. Sheppard pursed his lips, "Alright. Teyla, I want you and Dr. Corde to stay where you are. We'll catch up in a minute."

"Acknowledged, Major."

"Don't let Rodney enter the base 'til I get there."

An indignant, "Hey!" squeaked in the trees ahead of them.

"Understood. We will be waiting."

Sheppard's radio crackled into silence as he turned to the wraith and his security escort. "Okay! Sounds like we got a setback. Let's pick up the pace, people!"

They'd barely jogged a stride when static burst from Sheppard's earpiece once more. It was Dr. Corde this time. "Major Sheppard, I thought it might be important to note that the signs of predator activity we're seeing are extensive."

"How extensive?"

There was short pause, decidedly void of whispering. Then…

"Very extensive."

Steve snorted beside them, and, feeling an unexpected urge to strangle the uninformative scientist, Sheppard suddenly understood how Sergeant Bates felt.

"Specifics, Doctor!"

-------------------------------------------------

**A minute later…**

Extensive was an understatement. Tracks littered the gully, churning the rich forest loam into a treacherous expanse of green-flecked mud. Splintered sticks and shredded leaf debris coated everything in view. Bark swayed in the air, dangling from over-hanging branches in tattered strips. Every decently sized tree trunk in sight had been heavily clawed, and loosened stones lay willy-nilly like marbles, hunching dejectedly where they'd landed during the excesses of the night.

As for the abandoned wraith base… Well…

Peering down at the facility from atop a thickly wooded ridge, Sheppard experienced an ill twinge of foreboding. The partially buried entrance had been almost completely dug up, and according to Rodney, the energy readings were fading.

"I swear it didn't look like this the last time I was here!"

Dr. Corde was taking the setback very personally. Sheppard supposed it was understandable. The base had been SGA-2's first big discovery.

"I'm sure no one is blaming you for this, Doctor," Teyla said firmly, but reassuringly. "Accidents happen. We cannot predict everything."

"I know! But—" Corde smacked his knee and ran a hand through his hair, thoroughly put out. "It's aggravating!"

"At least it's still there," Lieutenant Ford interjected, trying to look on the bright side. "Last time WE returned to a wraith base, it was nothing but a crater."

"What YOU found was a hive ship. This is different."

Sheppard tuned his teammates' voices out, hastily surveying options. Retreat without investigation wasn't one of them. He tapped his radio.

"Lieutenant Cadman, this is Major Sheppard."

"Go ahead, Sir."

"We've hit a snag. I need you to dial the Gate."

The female Lieutenant's cheery tone turned serious, "I'm on it, Sir. Do you require back up?"

Scanning the ransacked gully, Major Sheppard shook his head, "Not yet. A backhoe, now… That's another story."

In the rocky field, standing by the DHD, Lieutenant Cadman frowned, "Sir?"

"Never mind. Get dialing, Lieutenant."

"Right away, Sir. Cadman out."

Kneeling in the brush beside the Major, Dr. McKay looked up from his life-signs detector, whispering urgently, "Sheppard, if we're going in there, we've got to go now. And I mean 'NOW.' As in, this instant!"

Sheppard shot him a reproving glance, "Hold your horses, Rodney."

"I will NOT hold my horses!" spluttered McKay, "That base is losing power. At this rate, the terminal will die before we get there. Heck, it might already be dead."

Unimpressed by the outburst, (he'd heard similar doomsday claims designed to get the physics department new toys before), Major Sheppard gave McKay a 'no nonsense' look. "And if it IS dead," he explained in an exaggeratedly reasonable fashion, "We'll just have Steve revive it for us. That's what he's here for. Remember?"

Dr. McKay shot the security escort, which was stationed a few meters away along the ridge, a nervous glance. "What if he won't do it?"

"He'll do it."

"I know you SAY that," McKay protested, "but what if he won't?"

Mildly irritated, Sheppard deliberately raised his voice, "If we get inside and the computer happens to be inoperable, I'm sure STEVE," meaningful emphasis on 'Steve,' "will be happy to bring it online for us." Before Rodney could reply, he leaned past a tree trunk and stared at the wraith. "Isn't that right, STEVE?"

Crouched motionlessly within the circle of marines, (a defensive pose he'd adopted instantly upon catching sight of the destruction), Steve tore his gaze from the ravaged landscape and reluctantly met Sheppard's pointed stare. "If such a thing is within my capabilities…" He looked back down, lips twitching as he expelled an uncertain chuff. "Yessss…" he finally hissed.

Good enough. Sheppard turned to Rodney. "See? What'd I tell you?"

"That wasn't exactly a glowing endorsement!" McKay exclaimed, "Nor, if I might add, did it inspire confidence!"

"Whatever happens, happens, Rodney. Safety first. That's the way it goes."

"Oh, for the love of—"

The group's radios crackled thankfully to life. "Major Sheppard, this is Cadman."

Eyeing McKay warningly, he tapped his earpiece, "Go ahead, Lieutenant."

"Wormhole established, Sir. I've got Atlantis for you."

"Patch me through."

"Yes, Sir."

There was a blurt of soft static. Then… "Major Sheppard, this is Weir. I hear you have a snag."

Sheppard refocused on the churned ground before the base. "You heard right. M1X-347's predators found our target last night. The facility's a mess."

He could almost hear Dr. Weir's concerned frown. "The terminal…?"

"Haven't gotten that far. Normally I'd prefer to scout the area—"

"A wise precaution."

"—but Dr. McKay thinks the base's power is failing. He wants in. Now."

"Do you agree with his assessment?"

Pausing, Sheppard allowed his tone to waffle uncertainly, "Well… It's more a matter of the company I'm keeping at the moment…" Which was code for: Can I take the risk even though I've still got the wraith?

"You want permission to proceed without back up." I.e. Message received.

"That about sums it up, yeah."

Dr. Weir was silent for a moment. "Are the predators still in the area?"

The Major shook his head. "Haven't seen any. Life signs are negative. There're a few tufts of fur, though."

"A few, face-sized tufts," McKay muttered, watching a grayish fur ball sail across the muddy loam. It was the size of a tumbleweed…

"Are we SURE," Dr. Weir pressed, "that they only come out at night?"

Having listened to the entire conversation, Teyla Emmagen finally reached for her earpiece. "Dr. Weir, it's Teyla. If I may have permission to speak?"

"Of course, Teyla. Proceed."

She glanced at Sheppard, "My people have been visiting this planet for generations. And we've had dealings with other people who have as well. Never have we seen, or heard a story, of a beast venturing from its lair during the day."

"I see." There was a pregnant silence as the expedition leader mulled the Athosian's assurance around. Then… "Alright. You have a go, Major. Keep a close eye on our guest. I'm putting Sergeant Bates in a jumper on standby."

"Hopefully they won't have to try flying it."

"Indeed. Good luck, Major."

"Sheppard out."

The radio crackled off.

Major Sheppard pursed his lips, thinking about the planet's air currents. "I suppose if they stay low, they could make it to the tree line…"

"Yes, yes. That's well and good," McKay spewed, "The extreme turbulence is up high." He waved his life-signs detector impatiently, "Can we GO now? In the time you and Elizabeth spent talking, the base's power levels dropped thirty percent."

"That much?" McKay glared in exasperation, and Sheppard sobered, "Yes, Rodney. We can go now." He turned to Teyla. "Teyla, you're with me." He pointed at McKay, "You're with Ford. Corde? Geerman?" Sheppard leaned past the tree trunk and surveyed the security escort. The wraith stared motionlessly at the base as the eight marines expectantly looked to their commander. "Follow with Steve on my signal."

Lieutenant Geerman nodded, "Yes, Sir."

"All right," echoed Dr. Corde.

Readying his P-90, Major Sheppard rose to a crouch, pushed aside the bushy plant he'd been peering through, and crested the ridge. With a rustle of leaves, Teyla followed. They descended into the gully, one eye trained on the treacherously steep footing, the other scanning, alert for danger. Lieutenant Ford started after them, providing cover support while avoiding the twigs and debris kicked up by Dr. McKay, who clumsily slipped and slithered down the slope above him. As they neared the bottom, the ground began to give underfoot, switching from spongy leaf-litter to a squishy mud-like texture. Lacking real mud's moisture content, however, the excessively aerated earth and pebbles slid easily off their boots.

"It's like wading through potting soil," McKay grumbled, stumbling in the loosened ground, "only flecked with green instead of white…"

Lieutenant Ford motioned for him to be quiet.

McKay rolled his eyes, "Fine."

Jogging warily along the gully's track-churned bed, Sheppard and Teyla examined the base's torn-up entrance as they approached. Several meters of domed wall, (previously buried), had been exposed, as had the ravaged doorframe, (previously partially buried). Great piles of earth and fat chunks of fuzzy moss were heaped haphazardly around the gaping hole that'd once been a doorway. Nudging a chitin splinter with his boot, Sheppard eyed the dirty, tumbled vegetation for a moment, then glanced up, "Something tells me… That's all supposed to be up there…"

Teyla raised an eyebrow, "This destruction is… Impressive." She flicked her P-90's lamp on, "I confess, I do not have high hopes as to what we'll find inside."

"I don't blame ya," muttered Sheppard. Meeting the Athosian's gaze meaningfully, he gave Ford a 'wait for the All Clear' sign, and switched his own weapon's lamp on. "Let's see what those man-eating beasts left us."

He darted into the dark, violently-widened gap, followed quickly by Teyla. Darkness engulfed them. Their rapid footfalls echoed erratically in the confined space. Chitin and twigs crunched unevenly underfoot. The dead walls suddenly gave way to a pair of passages, and Sheppard and Teyla spun away from each other, one going left, one going right. Both swinging P-90's in sharp arcs to cover the new territory. Each passage led to an empty, medium-sized room. White light flickered across emaciated organic supports and desiccated membranes, illuminating a decorator's nightmare of deep, arm-long gouges and shredding, horror-movie claw marks.

No beasts.

In less than thirty seconds, they were back where they'd diverged.

"Empty room," Sheppard stated.

"I found the same."

They continued down the entry hall, soon finding the control center. The decorator's nightmare was worse there. Emaciated wraith terminals, covered with so many gashes they looked like worried dog bones, lay everywhere, listing and toppled, trailing leathery, empty veins. One rested by a ragged hole, apparently dug up by its roots. The P-90s' lamps revealed dirty tracks coating the pitted floor, and a heap of flattened moss wedged between two support columns. Several large tufts of matted, greyish tan fur huddled in the room's gash-ridden nooks and corners.

Scanning the shadowy space for danger, Sheppard and Teyla made a beeline for the central console that was their goal, methodically sweeping the area behind it.

Again, no beasts…

But there was goo. Lots of goo…

That couldn't be a good sign.

Eyeing the glistening puddle by his feet, Major Sheppard glanced at Teyla meaningfully and tapped his earpiece, "All clear, Lieutenant."

"On our way, Sir."

"And tell McKay to double-time it. We've got a leak."

As the sounds of Dr. McKay complaining about the vagueness of his 'leak' comment began dribbling in from the darkened hall, Sheppard made a decision. "Lieutenant Geerman, this is Sheppard. Bring the wraith."

"Understood, Sir."

As the radio crackled off, he muttered, "I think we're gonna need him sooner rather than later…"

Growing louder, McKay's strident protest echoed into the ransacked control room. "What'd you send for HIM for?! I haven't even seen it yet!"

Major Sheppard shrugged and stared at the console, calling over his shoulder, "Oh, let's just say I had a hunch…"

"He had a hunch. Wonderful. That's jus—Ow!" The sound of the grumbling scientist tripping over something thudded in the passage, and Rodney stumbled into the room, followed closely by Ford. As Teyla raised a concerned eyebrow, he squeaked indignantly, "What? You couldn't have cleared the rubble a bit?"

"Pebble removal isn't exactly high on our priority list, Rodney."

Glaring at Sheppard in the dimness, McKay spluttered, "That was NOT a peb—" he caught sight of the console behind the Major. His eyes widened in disbelief, "What the Hell happened to that?!"

Seeing Sheppard give Rodney a 'don't be an idiot' look, Teyla simply stated, "The predators." Pulling a pocket lantern out of her TAC vest, she switched it on.

White light illuminated the terminal. It was heavily damaged. Chunks had been clawed, (or perhaps gnawed), from its oval surface. Clear, viscous goo oozed from deep gouges in its chitin casing. Its twin touch pads were marred with shallow gashes. And its supporting pedestal… Didn't look terribly supportive. It was cracked and split, showing glimpses of orange tissue, a throbbing, amber glow, and yellowed membranes. One crack was dribbling a pale, rose-tinted liquid. Several others oozed the clear goo.

They could actually see the stuff welling up, pulsing from the lesions and flowing down the pedestal's sides to swell the widening puddle by Sheppard's feet.

There was an oddly blood-like rhythm to the expulsion…

Lieutenant Ford grimaced, "What is that stuff?"

Lifting a boot, Sheppard poked the pool with his toe, sending ripples glistening towards the pedestal's base, "Something that's supposed to be INside the console…"

"Awww…" Dr. McKay groaned and hurried to the computer. He bent to examine it, whining, "Why'd this have to happen NOW?"

-------------------------------------------------

**Meanwhile…**

Outside the facility, Dr. Corde was wondering the same thing, but for a different reason. "What I don't understand," he protested, slipping down the steep slope, "is why now? The wildlife left this place alone for years. Why suddenly dig it up?"

At the front of the security escort, by Lieutenant Geerman, Private Laris shrugged, "Maybe they needed a new nest?"

Corde shook some dirt off his life-signs detector, "But why here? Why now?"

"How should I know?"

"It just doesn't make sense…"

Within the circle of marines, Steve snorted dismissively. "Given the circumstances, a coincidence is unlikely."

"Exactly!" Corde agreed, "But what triggered it?"

No response. The scientist glanced at the wraith, then stumbled as his foot sank to its ankle in the loosened 'potting soil' of the gully's bottom. He pulled it out, muttering, "The ground was a lot firmer last time…"

Concentrating on the terrain, the marines slogged determinedly through the churned earth with Dr. Corde stumbling beside them. Unhindered by the obstacle, Steve moved with his customary grace, slinking and weaving in a variation of the defensive stance he'd adopted atop the ridge. The eight marines tightened their circle, unconsciously responding to his wary posture…

When they reached the facility's entrance, Steve abruptly straightened. His sharp hiss, accompanied by the snap of leather, sent eight stunners clattering up.

Chuffing quietly, the wraith ignored the threat and scented the air. His gloved feeding hand stretched out, wrist beads glimmering, and he swayed towards the ravaged doorway, pausing only when the blunt tip of a stunner nudged his chest. Staring down at Private Sheere, Steve waited until Lieutenant Geerman signaled the marine to back off. Then he drifted to the wall, testing the doorframe's shattered chitin with his fingers.

"Did you find something?" Corde was watching Steve's behavior with interest.

The wraith snorted. Ivory strands caught in clinging deposits of moss and dirt as he brushed his cheek past the splintering bluish-black shell, "This place is dead…"

"Not all of it," Dr. Corde protested, "The computer—"

Steve reared back, nostrils flaring. His olive eyes swept to Geerman, then skewered Dr. Corde accusingly, "This world's predators consider humans prey?"

"Among other things," Corde uneasily confirmed. According to the Athosians, they ate anything that moved. "They're apex predators…"

"Your people left their scent all over this place," Steve hissed, "That is undoubtedly what attracted them. This outcome should've been expected."

Dr. Corde frowned, perplexed, "But they left it alone after your kind left. Wouldn't they find wraith scent as appetizing as human?"

Running his feeding hand over the frame, the wraith bared his teeth and chuffed dismissively, "The remains of a camouflage generator are here. By the time it failed, any traces my kind left would've long since dissipated."

Lieutenant Geerman's curiosity was peaked, "A camouflage generator?"

The captive's expression turned closed and neutral. "It is irreparable."

"But are they common?"

No response.

The Lieutenant and Private Laris exchanged glances.

"Wait a minute," Dr. Corde was regarding the wraith thoughtfully, "Are you saying there could be facilities like this anywhere? That we could walk right by them?"

Olive eyes narrowed impassively, "I am saying nothing."

"What do they do, exactly? The generators?"

Ignoring the scientist, the alien stepped further into the entrance, forcing his escort to move into the shadows. They began switching their P-90s' lamps on.

"Wait, Steve—" A sharp snort cut Dr. Corde off.

Steve stopped, silhouetted in the darkened entryway, slender frame held rigidly straight. As his captors watched, the sensory orifices on his cheeks twitched, and he scented the air once more. "What… is this smell…?" He inhaled deeply.

Dr. Corde fidgeted eagerly, "Do you recognize it?"

Eyes widening, Steve hissed in dismay and peered down the corridor. At the same time, the groups' radios crackled to life. "Geerman, this is Sheppard. What's the hold up, Lieutenant? We need that wraith now. McKay says the terminal's dying."

"Understood, Major." The escort surged forward.

The wraith was already moving.

-------------------------------------------------

**A minute later…**

Spears of light spilled from dark passageway into the facility's control room, heralding Lieutenant Geerman's arrival. Kneeling by the puddle, Dr. McKay looked up from the cracked pedestal, distressed impatience contorting his face.

"What took you so long!?" he squeaked, "We sent for you ages ago!"

"Please," Sheppard scoffed, "It was barely two minutes."

"Well, it was two minutes too long! This thing's oozing out! I can't stop it!"

Passing his lamp to Lieutenant Ford, who was crouching by Rodney, Major Sheppard stood to meet the escort as it jogged into the room. Stalking quickly in their midst, Steve halted crisply as his captors resumed their circle formation. Nodding to Geerman, Sheppard addressed the wraith. "Can you fix it?"

Glancing at Dr. Corde, who'd almost run into Private Sheere, Steve met the Major's eyes. Then he looked past him, taking in the mangled console and expanding puddle. He expelled a sharp chuff of disbelief. "Fix that?" he barked.

Sheppard raised a flippant eyebrow, "No. The other, invisible terminal."

A shocked snort echoed in the room as Steve's oval pupils swept across the damage. He scented the air. Nostrils flaring, he bared his teeth with a frown and cocked his head. "If I fix this," a dubious hiss, "I will get to see the flooded lab?"

"Consider it a new condition of the tour."

For an instant, the wraith went rigidly still, processing the new arrangement. Then he surged forward, striding urgently for the computer.

Taken by surprise, his escort scurried to keep up. Almost overtaken by their charge, Geerman and Laris parted to provide access to the console. Likewise startled, Dr. McKay and Lieutenant Ford scrambled to their feet and backed away, unwilling to be caught within the advancing marines' mobile perimeter. As they withdrew, Teyla retreated to the moss-packed support columns, where she could observe from a distance.

Steve's black boots splashed wetly in the puddle as, with a smooth, swooping motion, he dropped into a crouch by the pedestal. Leather coat panels rustled, trailing their stiff edges in the clear liquid as he examined the cracks. His feeding hand ran gently along the splintered chitin, pressing, testing… Finding the spot where the trickling discharge was rose-tinted instead of colorless… With a snort, Steve dropped to his knees and lifted his fingers to his face, brushing the glove's damp pads across his cheek.

He closed his eyes, wincing. "These wounds are fatal."

"Fatal?!" Alarmed, Dr. McKay peered anxiously around Lieutenant Geerman's shoulders, "How can they be 'fatal?' It's a computer!—"

"A living comput—"

"—Stabilize the power, or something!"

Hissing, the wraith spun his face to McKay, turning so quickly, his hair whipped the pedestal with moist, ivory smacks. "Even if I had the resources for such extensive repairs," he snapped, "There is not enough time to effect them. It is dying."

"Can't we just resuscitate after it's fixed?"

In lieu of answering, Steve hissed again and refocused on the cracks, lips twitching with a derisive chuff. "Major Sheppard…" He cocked his head without looking up, "Is data salvage an acceptable substitute for repair?"

Major Sheppard frowned and edged forward, slipping into the security circle. He eyed the wraith skeptically. "Is it really that bad?"

A sharply hissed, "Yesss."

"Hmmm…" The Major eyed the console. The damage was, outwardly, impressive. Outwardly. Having no experience with this sort of thing, he had nothing to base his decision on but Steve's word, and for a hostage, 'data salvage' could easily disguise 'data sabotage.' Which left him at the now, all-too-familiar question of, 'How committed was the wraith to cooperating in exchange for information on the glove?'

"Make your decision quickly, Major," Steve's multi-tonal voice was urgent, "Or salvage will no longer be an option."

"Sheppard," The worry on Dr. McKay's face as he consulted his life-signs detector echoed the wraith's tone, "Power levels are under 10 percent."

Sheppard's eyes bored into the back of Steve's head. Bottom line was, Atlantis needed this computer. Whether sabotaged or not, wraith technology of any sort was invaluable for study purposes. Any good data they might get was a bonus.

"Salvage is fine by me. Do it."

"As you wish, Major Sheppard." The black form elegantly unfurled from its kneeling crouch, and Steve sprang smoothly to his feet while stepping closer to the console. He delicately placed his palms on its pitted touch pads, and a pair of orangey-brown branches slid haltingly up out of the terminal's back with a wet schlucking sound. Reaching shoulder-level, they swung jerkily apart and locked into place, stretching a ragged, yellowish-black membrane between them. Steve narrowed his eyes, and flurry of blocky, grey characters, reminiscent of Ancient, began scrolling rapidly up the organic screen, as if through smoke. A displeased hiss whispered into the room.

Dr. McKay pushed forward, almost crossing the security line. "What are you doing?" He was staring at the scrolling characters in fascination. It was the same language they gotten off the Genii's stolen Wraith 'thumb' drive.

"Running a diagnostic," Steve's reply was clipped and short. Distracted.

Unimpressed, McKay impatiently squeaked, "Why? We already know it's dying!"

No response.

"Just extract the hard-drive!—"

Steve snorted irritably, exasperation tingeing his tone, "I cannot do so safely without first pinpointing internal injuries. Prioritization in this operat—" Static fuzzed the ragged membrane. The wraith's olive eyes widened as the display's scrolling characters flared yellowy-white and were distorted by an erratic deluge of subdued, snaking, organic colors. Everything winked out.

Concerned, Sheppard frowned, "What happe—"

An urgent chuff cut him off. "This terminal no longer has sufficient power to sustain visual interface." Steve bowed his head, oval pupils vanishing behind a swinging, ivory curtain and closing eyelids, "Attempting mental interface."

Unaccustomed to feeling useless, Dr. McKay edged closer, causing Sheppard to grab his arm with a restraining hand. "What do you mean, 'attemp—'"

Steve jerked his face up with a snort and reared back, snatching his palms off the touch pads as if burned. Startled by the sudden movement, Major Sheppard dragged McKay away, forcefully pulling the valuable scientist out of the captive's circle.

"Ow!" McKay protested, "Was that really necessary?!"

Ignoring him, Sheppard stared at the wraith, "What the Hell was that?!"

"Hello! You can let go of me now…"

Eyes still closed, Steve shook his head, wincing, "Telepathic feedback." He hissed, a jittering, shaky sound, "It is no longer capable of sustaining an interface." He swayed. Leather scraped across chitin as he stumbled forward.

"Are you okay?" Releasing McKay, Sheppard started forward as the wraith caught himself on the console's edge. He looked distinctly unsteady…

"I am fine. It is merely a momentary dizziness." Olive eyes blinking open, Steve glanced at his captor and lowered himself to his knees. He shook his head once more.

"Are you SURE you're alright?"

An annoyed hiss. "Whether I am or not is irrelevant. The terminal is going into shock. I must—"

Dr. McKay's jaw dropped disbelievingly, "Shock?! What is this? Surgery?"

Snorting, the wraith leaned into the pedestal, "The two are not dissimilar, Doctor." The orifices on his pale cheeks quivered as he brushed his face past a large expanse of unbroken chitin, "I will be extracting living tissue from this unit."

"Aww," McKay groaned, "I SO did not need to hear that."

Behind him, Lieutenant Ford shuffled his feet, adding a grimacing, "Same here."

A ripple of agreement swept the security escort, culminating in Dr. Corde thoughtfully tapping his chin and announcing, "That's an interesting analogy. If we go a step further, taking into account the role and purpose a hard-drive fulfills, we could actually narrow it down more specifically. To say… Maybe—"

"Brain surgery?" Ford guessed.

Corde snapped his fingers, "Exactly!"

"I think I'm going to be sick," someone muttered.

"Okay. Knock it off, people," Sheppard warned, seeing McKay pale. "It's computer surgery. Leave it at that."

"Why do YOU always get to name things?" Rodney ungratefully spluttered.

"Because, Rodney, I don't su—"

"I need a knife." The urgent, multi-tonal bark echoed in the room as everyone instantly stopped talking. All eyes fixed on the wraith. Steve lay on one hip, curled partly around the pedestal in a haphazard splay of dampening black leather. His left hand worked furiously, methodically scoring a large section of formerly-undamaged shell with the razor-edged tips of his fore- and index fingers' metallic finger guards.

Clear ooze welled from the shallow incisions as Major Sheppard stared down at the wraith. Had he heard right? The captive was asking for a knife? "Excuse me?"

"A knife," Steve hissed, without looking, "Preferably one with a curved tip."

The security escort shifted uneasily. Sheppard didn't blame them. "What do you need a knife for?"

A sharp, distinctly frustrated sounding chuff, "I no longer possess the tools necessary for extracting this hard-drive efficiently."

Sheppard frowned, "You've already got two blades." Two too many…

"And a third would speed my progress considerably." Apparently having recovered his equilibrium, Steve uncurled from his project with lithe grace and rolled to his knees. Ripples glistened across the dark puddle as his oval pupils peered urgently into the Major's face. "Speed in this operation is essential. The hard-drive's external shell has been compromised. It must be extracted and patched immediately."

Sheppard didn't hide his skepticism, "And a third blade will help you do that."

The wraith tilted his face sharply, eyes widening, "I do not have time to discuss this." Drawing hastily back, he slipped beneath the console and resumed working, snapping irritably, "What would I gain from possessing a knife, Major?"

"Oh, I don't know. A weapon, maybe?"

The wet noise of chitin being sliced was punctuated with a disgusted hiss, "I could only kill one of you before my guards stunned me." A derisive snort burst from the pedestal, "Such action would only ensure my swift death."

It was a good point. The Major fingered the sheath holding his standard issue, TAC knife. (A curved tip, just like the wraith wanted…) He pursed his lips and paced around the console, trying to determine if it was really needed.

Still scoring, Steve deliberately ignored his presence.

Reaching the lifeless display, Major Sheppard stopped and raised a curious eyebrow. Despite not being involved in the repairs, Steve's feeding hand was… Busy. Its fingers flexed spasmodically, clenching the glove's padded fingertips ineffectually against the terminal's shell in a series of quickly aborted twitches, the rhythm of which, oddly enough, seemed to be connected to his left hand.

The movement almost looked reflexive…

An epiphany struck. The wraith was accustomed to manipulating organic technology with BOTH hands. He was operating under a severe handicap. And if the skills were deeply ingrained, which they appeared to be…

Well… His frustration made perfect sense. As did the request.

Unsheathing his TAC knife, Sheppard dropped to his knees and reversed it, shoving the handle into the wraith's view. "Just don't kill anyone with it."

Steve froze, glancing at his captor. He held Sheppard's gaze, then nodded imperceptibly and grasped the proffered handle. "A wise decision…" Propelled by a deft flick, the blade inverted with a twist, stopping so its glittering edge rested against the wraith's thickly padded palm. He gripped it firmly.

Behind the Major, Dr. McKay saw the sharpened metal bite the irreplaceable fabric, and startled, "Whoa, there! Easy on the glove!"

A dismissive snort, "This material is stronger than it appears." Sliding the knife between his fingers, Steve adjusted it so the curved tip thrust out from his first two knuckles like a claw, "I assure you, Dr. McKay, that it will not be damaged."

"But the knif—"

"He's right, McKay," Lieutenant Ford shrugged, "He already put it on. If it can survive that, it can survive anything."

Recalling the frantic assault following the glove's activation, (which had almost certainly involved finger guards), McKay subsided with a grudging, "Yeah, well… Just be careful with it…"

"That is entirely within my intentions." Testing his grip, Steve plunged the improvised tool into the console's base. He yanked it free and repeated the action, this time bracing the blade's hilt against the inside of his wrist. As it withdrew, dripping, from the casing, he gave a satisfied hiss, "Acceptable…"

"Glad you like it," Sheppard quipped.

Hissing distractedly, the wraith returned to his task, carving the pedestal with powerful strokes guided by unsettling precision. The marines of his security escort watched his improved progress with varying degrees of trepidation and respect. The difference was… Impressive, to say the least… Within seconds, the scored chitin had separated from the console, tearing loose with a wet shloooouuuck. Steve pried it out, severing the stringy connective tissue clinging to it with skilled finger swipes before casting it carelessly aside. As the bluish-black rectangle hit the shallow puddle with a thunking splash, he leaned closer to examine the new access panel, gently running the side of his ungloved palm down the freshly revealed expanse of unblemished, softly glowing, yellow membrane. A pleased hiss infiltrated the room as the amber light pulsed, dimming and brightening in response to the pressure of his hand.

"We are in luck," Steve announced, "This tissue is still healthy."

Dr. McKay peered over his shoulder, "Is it part of the hard-drive?"

"No."

"Then what is it?"

Not answering, the wraith rolled to his feet and splashed around the terminal, dropping to his knees in a quick swirl of fanning hair and rustling leather.

McKay huffed exasperatedly and followed. "More importantly," he clarified loudly, "Why do we care?"

A soggy CRACK! rent the air as Steve's gloved fist impacted a heavily damaged part of the pedestal. "Because, Doctor McKay," the fist readied for another blow, "we cannot stabilize the hard-drive without it." CRACK! Chitin splintered, caving into the casing's interior with a sickening crunch reminiscent of breaking bones. Liquid burst from the wound, spurting from a spidery array of jagged fissures. Ignoring the leaks, Steve tore at the weakened shell, violently slicing and snapping large chunks free.

Major Sheppard winced as the stuff spattered the wraith's face. "Okay, this is getting a little disgusting."

"At least it's not blood," Dr. Corde unhelpfully pointed out.

Lieutenant Ford eyed the expanding pool at their feet uneasily, "This is only a guess. But something tells me, it might as well be…"

"Thank you," Sheppard smiled with mock-pleasantness, "But I did not need to know that."

Grimacing at the image Ford conjured, Dr. McKay watched the assault on the console with nauseous curiosity, "What is that stuff…? By the way?"

Surprisingly, Steve actually gave a straight answer, "A harmless nutrient solution." He hissed, wrenching at a particularly large chunk, "One which you will be required to duplicate upon our return to Atlantis."

"Nutrient solu—" McKay laughed in dismay at the idea, "No, no, no. See, I'm a physicist. 'Nutrient' is a voodoo term. Voodoo means Carson—"

"Delegate the task as you see fit. It is necessary for the drive's survival."

At the wraith's dismissive tone, Rodney bristled, "I didn't say I couldn't—"

"Nor did I," a loud chuff, also dismissive, "You consistently infer far more from my words than I intend…" Following a quick slice of the knife-talon, the shell under Steve's hands split with a soggy crunch. Liquid poured from the gap like an un-dammed river, surging over his knees and into the lowest folds of his coat. "It is most vexing."

At the admission, the physicist smiled triumphantly, "So I WAS annoying you!"

Hissing sharply, Steve thrust his arms into the dripping hole he'd created, "There is no time for games, Doctor McKay. I am about to extract the hard-drive. Use the Lantean device you carry to monitor the power levels."

"Oh!" As the wraith's sleeves disappeared into the console's glowing interior with a moist squelch, Dr. McKay fumbled with his neglected life-signs detector, "Power's at less than five percent. Still dropping…"

"Inform me if the drop becomes precipitous." Eyes narrowing, Steve pressed one cheek to the pedestal, above the opening, and fell silent. Wet slicing noises, muffled by layers of chitin and spongy tissue, issued from the gap. Liquid pulsed down the casing, welling out from around his elbows in irregular waves of glistening sap.

A surge of fluid gushed to the floor as Steve withdrew his ungloved hand and reinserted it, angling his finger guards upward.

"Four percent," Dr. McKay announced, "Decline is holding steady."

An absently expelled chuff, "As expected…" More muffled slicing.

Intrigued, yet mildly repulsed by the display, (it sounded disturbingly like the wraith was filleting raw meat), Major Sheppard moved closer. The security circle tightened vigilantly around him. Necks craned for a better view…

Nothing. The wraith was working entirely by feel. They couldn't see anything…

Yet…

Nutrient solution flooded over the glove as Steve pulled his feeding hand out, "I have finished severing the drive's suspension—" The clear liquid pouring from his fingers suddenly flushed pink.

"That can't be good," Sheppard muttered.

"Power levels are starting to drop exponentially!" McKay cried.

With a dismayed hiss, the knife splashed into the puddle. Steve's hands plunged back into the pedestal, "The damage is worse than predicted," he barked.

"What does pink mean?" Sheppard demanded.

"Who cares!?" squeaked McKay, "Do something!"

Translucent teeth bared urgently, "The drive's shell is punctured in multiple locations. It can no longer maintain the internal pressure required for efficient nutrient exchange." Rolling to his toes, the wraith reached deeper into the terminal.

"So patch it!" McKay spluttered.

"I intend to," The glove reemerged, fingers locked around a dully glowing organic tube. Giving the flaccid, dusky rose tissue a sharp yank, Steve pulled it from casing.

"Three percent!"

An irregularly-shaped, dimly pulsing ovoid issued from hole with a wet Shluck! Tubing trailed from the hole after it, and as the mysterious pink liquid rained into the puddle, dribbling from claret-red gashes in the object's luminous hide, the wraith gathered the dripping thing into his arms.

Dr. McKay gaped at it in disbelief, "THAT'S the hard drive?"

"Yesssss…" Steve probed a wound, testing the flow of fluid welling from it.

"It looks like an Adam's Family football!"

"I'm guessing those holes aren't supposed to be there," Sheppard observed.

"No…" Clamping his feeding hand over the thumb-sized fissures, the wraith lunged around the pedestal. Hard drive clutched tightly to his chest, he dove for the improvised access panel with a hiss. Splashing to his knees before it, he began cutting slices from the exposed membrane with his finger guards. The metal tools flashed and scissored, twisting in a series of deft movements that left the material hanging in flaps.

"I thought we were keeping that?" Lieutenant Ford muttered.

Watching intently, Major Sheppard shrugged, "Meh…"

Dr. McKay's panicky voice rose urgently, "Two percent!"

"Running out of time, Steve."

"I am aware, Major Sheppard," With a final swipe, the wraith severed a flap completely. Catching it one-handed, he spread it over the damaged shell and pulled it tight, skillfully stretching the thin tissue so it clung to the drive's exterior like Cling Wrap. Cutting down a new flap, he added a second layer. Then a third.

"Power decline is stabilizing," McKay announced.

Steve felt along the taut membranes, caressing spots where they throbbed rhythmically with the expulsion of fluid from the wounds beneath. Pausing over a large one, he expelled a soft chuff of air and sliced more yellow tissue down. As the fourth layer was added, Dr. McKay lowered his life-signs detector with relief.

"Holding steady at one point five percent!"

"One point five…" Teyla's quiet tone dissipated the tense atmosphere that'd engulfed the room, "That is not very much."

Major Sheppard looked over his shoulder in surprise. Teyla was standing just outside the security circle. It seemed her curiosity had overcome her desire to avoid the prisoner. "No," he agreed, "it's really not."

She furrowed her brow and glanced at the kneeling wraith, idly shifting her P-90, "Will it be enough to survive the trip to Atlantis?"

Steve paused, then turned his head slightly, observing the Athosian out of the corners of his eyes. He snorted unreadably, "The number means nothing." His olive gaze swept back to the drive, "It is the rate of change that's important."

Teyla frowned, "You did not answer my question."

A low hiss, "No…" Ivory hair swung down, obscuring the wraith's inscrutable expression as he brushed his cheeks along the patched shell, saying, "I did not…"

Dr. McKay glared worriedly at the alien, "Well, will it survive or not?"

Another hiss, "That depends…"

"Depends on what?" Sheppard demanded, annoyed.

Reaching into the console, Steve deftly sliced a fifth strip of membrane, "The speed with which we return to Atlantis," he wrapped it loosely around his gloved thumb, adding, "And your kind's ability to accurately follow instructions."

"Oh, well, shouldn't be a problem then."

"We shall see, Major…"

Exasperated by the cagey dramatics, Sheppard rolled his eyes to the ceiling and tapped his radio, "Lieutenant Cadman, this is Sheppard."

"Go ahead, Sir."

"I need you to dial Atlantis again. Tell Dr. Weir we need the jumper."

Concern tinted the tinny reply, "Everything okay, Sir?"

The Major nodded, "Yeah, but we're gonna be leaving quick. Found some time sensitive wraith tech. Tell Weir we'll meet the jumper at the edge of the woods."

"Anything else to relay, Sir?"

Poking Sheppard's arm to get his attention, Dr. McKay wiggled his fingers and mouthed the word, 'voodoo.' Sheppard raised an eyebrow, "Tell her to have Carson standing by with a biology team. Steve's got a recipe for them to concoct."

Lieutenant Cadman sounded confused, "A recipe, Sir?"

"Long story." And the wraith hadn't explained yet…

"Anything else?"

He shook his head, "That's it. Get dialing, Lieutenant. Sheppard out."

As the Major tapped his radio off, Steve looked up from the hard drive. His pale face turned towards his captor expectantly, "Are you prepared to leave?"

Major Sheppard surveyed the room, cradling his P-90, "Anyone else got anything they wanna do here?"

Lieutenant Geerman and the escort marines shook their heads.

"No, Sir," added Lieutenant Ford.

"I will be glad to leave this place," Teyla admitted.

Rodney pointed at the tube-trailing, Adam's Family football nestled in the wraith's arms, "Everything I'M interested in is going with us. So… No."

Seeing Dr. Corde second McKay's assertion, albeit with obvious reluctance, Sheppard returned his attention to the prisoner. "Yes, Steve. We're prepared to leave."

Steve's translucent teeth bared with a soft chuff. "Now…?"

"Yes, Steve. Now."

The olive eyes narrowed, "Then I will finish." With a rustle of leather, he moved back around the pedestal, stopping by the hole he'd punched earlier.

McKay huffed squeakily in disbelief, "What? You're not done yet?!"

Sheppard pointed at the dusky, organic tubes emerging from the hard drive's tapered ends, "It's still connected to the terminal, Rodney."

Following the snaky tentacles through the puddle with his eyes, McKay snapped his mouth shut with a shortly muttered, "So it is."

"Not very observant today, are you?"

The scientist glared, "Not everyone can notice everything all the—"

A dripping splash cut McKay off. Steve had retrieved Major Sheppard's Tac knife from the pool. As they watched, he lifted the drive by one of its tentacles and trimmed the flaccid tissue above his gloved fist with a quick slice. Holding the severed length of tubing above his head, (there was about a foot and a half left), the wraith balanced the hard drive on one knee and brought the intact tentacle up.

"Aw, no. It's oozing pink again," McKay groaned. He whipped his life-signs detector out.

Sheppard winced. The severed tube WAS oozing pink. Not very much. Just a weak dribble. Gravity was keeping the stuff in place. But if Steve dropped it…

Or unpinched it…

"One point four nine percent. One point four eight…"

Hell, if he even breathed on it wrong…

"One point four seven…"

Shifting both tubes to his ungloved hand, Steve severed the connected tentacle and dropped the knife. His oval pupils fixed on the raw ends, staring intently as he carefully unwound the yellow tissue he'd cut earlier from his gloved thumb.

"One point four six. One point four five…"

His olive eyes slipped closed.

"One point four four."

The wraith took a deep breath and released it, exhaling with excruciating slowness…

"One point four three…"

Another breath…

"What the heck is he doing?! One point four two!"

Steve's eyes abruptly snapped open. With a feat of manual dexterity destined to leave everyone watching eternally perplexed, he flipped the tubes' ends down with his left hand, pressed them together with his fingers, and held them in place, all while wrapping them tightly with the membrane in his right hand. A surge of pink escaped, rushing down his ungloved wrist to dye his lichen skin briefly brown.

Steve snorted and flicked it off, already examining the new seal.

Crouching to retrieve his knife, Major Sheppard peered over the wraith's shoulder, impressed, "Not bad…" With the membrane in place, the tubes looked like a single, continuous loop, "How long will that hold?"

"It will not. This is merely a temporary transport measure."

"The drop appears to be stabilizing at one point zero three—"

"It will not stabilize," Steve hissed. His coat panels splashed through the pool, sweeping glistening ripples across its dark surface as he rose smoothly to his feet, "The hard drive must be placed in a nutrient bath as soon as possible."

McKay huffed, dismayed, "What do you— Why won't it stabilize?!"

Ignoring McKay, Steve gathered the tentacle loop up, coiled it over the drive with his feeding hand, and turned away from the dying terminal, stalking quickly for the exit.

At a signal from the Major, the escorts' stunners brought him to a sharp halt.

"Answer the question, Steve," Sheppard ordered.

Rearing to his full height, the wraith straightened rigidly, eyes darting between his captors and the door. An irate hiss swept the room, "I have created a closed circuit to re-circulate the unit's nutrients. The supply will soon be used up. When concentrations reach critical levels, it will begin to starve. Then it will enter toxic shock and die."

Dr. Corde's eyes widened in surprise, "Toxic shock?"

An impatient chuff, "Yesss. It is re-circulating waste nutrients."

"What is toxic shock?" Teyla asked.

"It's re-eating everything it excretes," Corde explained worriedly, "The build-up of waste will eventually poison it. Like suffocating on a ship with no life-support."

Another hiss stopped Teyla's reply. "Also, the tissue patches do not create a perfect seal. They are already beginning to dry out. Soon they will deteriorate."

Major Sheppard pursed his lips, eyeing the hard drive closely. Now that the wraith mentioned it, there WERE dark patches spreading under the membranes. And he could see pink beading on the edges of the tentacle patch.

"So you're saying, we should hurry."

A multi-tonal growl rattled in Steve's throat as he rounded on Sheppard, "This hard drive is literally bleeding to death as we speak."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow, "I take it that's a 'Yes'?"

Steve blinked once. Then his eyes widened challengingly, "If you delay further, I will refuse to be held responsible for its demise." A soft hiss, accompanied by a triumphantly lifting chin, "I state this for the benefit of your Queen."

Major Sheppard stared at the captive disbelievingly for a moment.

Then an explosive laugh burst from his chest.

Startled, Steve drew back and chuffed, blinking bewilderedly as the Major spun on his heel and headed for the exit. A confused hiss, "I don't understand."

"That's alright, Steve. Ya don't have to," Still chuckling, Sheppard wiped his eyes and readied his P-90. Then he raised an arm to signal the escort to move out, calling, "You heard the wraith. Her Majesty, Dr. Weir is waiting for us."

The wraith watched, perplexed, as stifled amusement ushered him from the room.

-------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading! Please review! Again, things I'm working on specifically are: 1. Maintaining a Season 1 feel in the flashback chapters. 2. Keeping the regulars in character.

As we're getting further into the plot, I'll now add a three to this list.

3. Making the new and different, (and/or bizarre), things that happen seem realistic and believable.


	15. Chapter 14: Excursion Part 2

Okay, here we go! Another chapter without an overly-long, excessive wait. Yay!

First off, today, I'd like to thank my readers for their support. And second, I'd like to pose a question to anyone who may be familiar with the traffic function of this site. Here it goes:

In the country breakdown graph for hits and visitors, I have a hit/visitor that has no country listed beneath it. What on Earth does that mean?

(At the moment, I'm going with the, "hit from the Pegasus Galaxy," theory.)

And now, without further ado...

Happy reading! :)

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.

**Chapter Fourteen: Excursion – Part Two**

_**3 years, 47 and ½ weeks earlier**_

"I must confess… I've seen a lot of weird things since coming to Pegasus. But this?" smiling ruefully, Elizabeth shook her head, "This takes the proverbial cake…"

"Yeah. It's pretty bizarre. Not quite sure what I think of it yet…"

Unclasping her hands, Atlantis's expedition leader straightened from her examination of the tank and turned to her military commander in amusement. "Not sure? Why, John, I'm surprised. I wouldn't think such a benign acquisition could shake you."

Major Sheppard shrugged, "Well, there're extenuating circumstances."

She raised an eyebrow, "How so?"

He pursed his lips, frowning at the object of their discussion pensively, "It's got the whole, brain in jar, surreal sci-fi thing going…"

Elizabeth's second eyebrow joined the first as he trailed into silence, "How's that 'extenuating?'" she prodded, intrigued.

Pacing around the jury-rigged, Plexiglas environment, Sheppard grunted, "Those movies never end well. Either for the brain," his blue eyes flicked to Weir's meaningfully, "Or the people keeping it…"

"Point taken." She smiled wryly, "We'll just have to be extra careful, then."

They stood quietly for a few moments, staring at the rescued hard-drive thoughtfully. It really was a surreal sight… The wraith device floated serenely in one of the Biology Department's fish-tanks, suspended within the prisoner's hastily concocted nutrient bath by a pair of rubber tourniquet hoses. Bubbles issued from perforated plastic pipes lying beneath it, obscuring the glowing ovoid in intermittent spurts as a machine aerated the solution to maintain oxygen levels. Several other elements and macromolecules, (including sodium and glucose), were also being monitored. Most of them, unfortunately, would have to be adjusted manually.

The infirmary's night staff would be busy…

Propelled by curiosity, Elizabeth sidled closer to one of the two smaller tanks flanking the large container, muttering, "I'm still amazed he managed to save it…"

"Yeah, it was touch and go for a while."

"So I heard," She peered into the transparent cube, eyeing the flaccid tentacle dangling sedately in its pink, crystal clear depths. One end snaked through an airtight seal connecting it to the large tank, where it merged with the tapered shell of the hard-drive. The other was free-floating. Its severed lips gaped, fluttering gently with a rhythmic sucking motion. Elizabeth tapped the Plexiglas, "And this is the intake…?"

"Aye, tha' it is," Carson poked his head up, appearing just beyond the tank. He was holding a grey plastic tub. Its contents rattled as he pushed himself up from his knees and nodded to the other small cube, "An' tha's waste disposal."

"Waste disposal," Elizabeth moved over to the third tank, where the drive's second tentacle dangled. Its fluid level was significantly lower than the intake tank's, and the pink had a slight orange tinge. "I assume that's the reason for the color change?"

"Indeed, it is," Rattling with every step, Dr. Beckett came around the set up. As he joined Dr. Weir, Major Sheppard snatched one of the objects from his tub.

"What's this, Doc?" Sheppard turned the white bottle he'd snagged over so he could see its label. He lifted an eyebrow, "Powdered glucose…"

"Aye, powdered glucose. We needed a bunch o' tha' for the solution."

Upending the bottle, which was empty, the Major glanced into the tub. It was filled with dozens of chemical bottles of varying shapes and sizes. White, yellow, pharmacy orange. A few clear. None had caps, but despite this, none were spilling anything. Sheppard frowned, "That's a lot of empty bottles."

Carson nodded, "Ah know. We needed a large volume o' two different solutions to stabilize the hard-drive." He glanced at Weir, "Ah won' lie. It could be a problem."

Elizabeth mirrored Sheppard's frown, "How so?"

"We're cut off from Earth, so our medical supplies are finite," Dr. Beckett gestured to the large tank with his tub, "And tha' beastie's goin' to need periodic replenishin'. Now, Steve assures me its consumption will decrease after it's finished healin', but tha' doesn' change the fact tha' it'll still require a certain amount o' food."

Sheppard pointed at the waste tank, "Can't we just recycle that?"

"Not without riskin' toxic shock. It has to be treated first."

"Treated?" Elizabeth pursed her lips thoughtfully.

"Aye. Ah've got the Chemistry Department workin' on a way to filter out the toxins Steve listed. But it'll still need vital nutrients replaced before it can be reused."

"And we can't spare many more of those," Sheppard guessed.

"No," Carson heaved a regretful sigh, "I'm afraid tha' for rationin's sake, ah'll eventually have to pull the plug on this beastie. With your approval, Elizabeth, or not."

"I understand, Carson. And I've no intention of stripping the expedition of its resources this early in the game." Clasping her hands behind her back, Elizabeth moved over to the large tank, her brown eyes perusing the rosy, pulsing ovoid once more. "So…" her tone turned business-like, "How much time do we have with it?"

"A week," bottles rattled as Carson shrugged, "Maybe a week an' a half. Two tops, if its consumption decreases like Steve said. An' if the off-world teams can find some o' the raw materials needed to manufacture a few o' the nutrients from scratch."

Sheppard looked at his empty glucose bottle in surprise, "We can do that?"

"Aye, we can," Carson relieved Sheppard of the white container and dropped it into his tub with a hollow clunk, "Or rather, the Chemistry lads can."

"Finding local sources to replenish our stocks is half their job," added Elizabeth.

Major Sheppard eyed the grey tub's contents with interest, "But some compounds are harder to purify than others…"

"Tha's the heart o' the problem," selecting a small, clear twist-top tube, Carson held it up for them to see, "Take this, for example. Ah've been told quite emphatically, tha' this lass would require nigh on two months to replace from scratch."

Elizabeth gave a low whistle.

"An' tha's assumin' we could get our hands on the raw stuff."

"Which, I assume, we can't," Sheppard guessed.

"Tha's correct."

"Figures," Taking the tube from Carson, Sheppard peered exaggeratedly at it, trying to read. Tiny black writing, illegible against the clear background, spiraled around the cylinder in a seemingly never-ending stream. "What the heck IS this stuff?"

"Somethin' with an incredibly long name tha' ah'm not even goin' to try to pronounce," Carson took the tube back and returned it to the tub, "We affectionately call it, chemical Xex, an'—"

"Zex?" Sheppard gave Elizabeth a perplexed glance. She shrugged.

"Not 'Zex.' Xex. As in the element xenon."

"Oh, yeah. I knew that," He hadn't, of course, but what they hey?

Carson sighed, "It's a complex compound containin' trace amounts o' the element xenon. Since xenon is normally inert an' relatively non-reactive, it's hard to make."

Elizabeth and Major Sheppard stared at him.

He fidgeted uncomfortably in the growing silence, "Or so ah've been told."

Sheppard's finger pointed accusingly, "You've been hanging out with the Chemistry Department too much."

"Ah have not!" offended, Carson gestured to the hard-drive, "Ah'll have ye know, they were right useful helpin' Steve concoct this. He wanted several things tha' weren' readily available. They broke stuff into their constituents like tha'!"

As the doctor juggled the tub one-handed in an attempt to snap his fingers, Elizabeth raised a calming hand, "It's alright, Carson. We're only teasing."

Catching his collection of bottles before they spilled, the Scotsman suddenly looked sheepish, "Ah know. Ah'm sorry. It's just… It's been a wee bit frenzied here for the past few 'ours. Ah haven' quite recovered yet."

"I think I can understand that," Sheppard quipped. He was tired just from WATCHING the frenetic activity that'd taken place in the infirmary.

"Tha' wraith's a bloody taskmaster."

"How did that go, by the way?" Elizabeth asked.

Carson gave a weary, but impressed, sigh, "'E certainly knows his stuff, tha's for sure." Steve had begun listing the supplies they'd need in the jumper, relaying instructions as soon as Major Sheppard established radio contact. They'd had half of what they needed already gathered before the team got back.

"And how to get things done?" Elizabeth pressed.

"Oh, definitely. No complaints there. 'E's incredibly efficient. Knew just wha' corners could be cut. An' how to split the load to keep the timin' right."

At Carson's words, Sheppard frowned, remembering the skillfully organized chaos that'd surrounded Steve upon their return. He wasn't sure what he thought of THAT yet, either. The wraith had taken to ordering Carson's staff about like a fish to water. And the staff, in Sheppard's view, had listened way too easily.

Or maybe they'd just recognized the need for efficiency… He pushed the worry aside, returning to the conversation at hand. "Yeah, Steve was effective," he agreed, musingly. He glanced at Elizabeth, "Makes me wonder what rank he held."

Carson perked up, curious, "Ye haven' asked him?"

Sheppard shrugged offhandedly, "He never answers that question."

"Ah see…" Intrigued by the new mystery, Dr. Beckett turned pensive, "Well… 'E's obviously a tech o' some sort. An' given the management 'e displayed, 'e's probably got a team under him—"

Smiling at Carson's enthusiasm, Elizabeth laid a restraining hand on his arm, saying gently, "I'm not sure any of us are qualified to speculate on that topic."

"Why ever not? Someone has to."

"He's hundreds of years old. They all are. I doubt our concepts of rank can be applied in a way that successfully encompasses that sort of experience."

Beckett's face fell, "Ah suppose tha' makes sense…"

"We need more information."

"Tell you what," Sheppard added, "Next interrogation, I'll ask again. Who knows? Maybe he'll blink twice and give a different answer."

Carson frowned, "Wha' answer has 'e been givin'?"

"One blink, followed by silence," the Major raised an eyebrow, "Stony silence."

Beckett's mouth twitched with reluctant amusement, "Stony, ye say?"

Sheppard nodded seriously.

Glancing at Elizabeth, Carson hefted the grey tub with a chuckle, "Now ah know yer pullin' my leg. Steve hasn' been stony for weeks. Not since 'e put the glove on."

The Doc had a point. "Well," admitted Sheppard, "that might be because I haven't asked that particular question in weeks. Apparently it's overdue."

"Tha' it is," Carson chuckled again, "An' so am I. Dr. Morgan is waitin' for me at the inventory station. Ah told him ah'd bring the empties down for check-in."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and surveyed the infirmary floor, where Beckett had been kneeling earlier. It was littered with discarded wrappers, goo puddles, and other debris left over from the frenzied operation. The personnel on cleaning duty hadn't made it to this part of the room yet. "So that's what you were doing down there."

"Aye, collectin' these beasties," Dr. Beckett rattled his tub, "They got scattered all over. Now, if ye'll excuse me." Turning away, he started for the infirmary's exit, calling, "Ah'll see ye two later." Halfway to the door, he paused, then looked back with a puzzled expression. "Tha' reminds me. If ye see another o' the Xex tubes, could ye bring it to inventory for me? We used two, but ah can only find one. They're wee, clear li'le buggers. Darn difficult to see. Ah've been lookin' for it everywhere."

"We'll keep an eye out for it, Carson," Elizabeth smiled.

"Yeah," Sheppard surveyed the messy floor, "it's probably stuck in a corner somewhere."

"Ah'm more worried about it blendin' in an' getting' tripped over."

"We'll be careful," Elizabeth assured him, "Go, get some rest."

"Ah will," he glanced at the bottles, "Ah'm goin' off shift after this. If ye think o' any questions, ah'll be in my quarters, on call. Goodnight, Elizabeth, Major Sheppard."

"Night, Doc."

"Goodnight, Doctor. You did well today."

"Thank ye, lass." With a Swoooosh, the infirmary door slid open, and Carson and his plastic tub disappeared into the corridor.

The door swished closed again.

"Xex tubes…" Sheppard muttered, "That sounds wrong on so many levels."

Elizabeth laughed, "Please, don't give me ideas, Major."

"I'll try not to," Moving back to the tanks, he poked at a piece of gooey debris with his boot, exaggeratedly making sure it wasn't the missing tube.

Ignoring the childish display, Elizabeth resumed her examination of the hard-drive, "So…" she murmured, "We only have a week or two with this…"

"That's what the man said."

"Is that enough time to get the data out?"

Major Sheppard paused and crossed his arms, considering the question seriously for a few moments. Finally he looked at her, "You know what? I don't know."

The expedition leader raised an eyebrow, "You don't know."

"No, I don't." Unashamed of his ignorance, Sheppard shrugged and mussed his spiky hair, "After Rodney made it up here, I sort of got… Pushed aside," he wiggled his fingers at the glowing drive, "Organic computer surgery isn't really my department."

Elizabeth watched her military commander wryly, "I suppose not…"

"Plus it was really noisy," he rubbed an ear.

"I see…"

"McKay's voice is strident."

"Indeed…"

"And Steve was doing a lot of hissing…"

Elizabeth looked at him. Major Sheppard looked back.

Dropping the unconcerned stance, he abruptly clapped his hands together, "Right! Let's go find Rodney."

"Sounds like a plan." Amused, Elizabeth Weir glanced at the serenely glowing hard-drive one last time, then followed Sheppard deeper into Atlantis's infirmary, inspecting the floor for Carson's missing Xex tube as she went.

* * *

**A minute later…**

"I can't believe you LEFT me!"

"Aw, get over it, Rodney."

McKay huffed indignantly, "I will NOT get over it! You LEFT me!"

"Yeah! With Lieutenant Ford and Dr. Corde," Sheppard rolled his eyes in annoyance, "It's not like I left you ALONE."

"Oh! Right!" McKay lifted his hand, thrusting a finger in Sheppard's face, "ONE marine, and TWO scientists!" (A second finger shot up), "In a forest infested with HIPPO-sized, man-eating beasts! How is that NOT alone!?"

"Lieutenant Cadman was waiting for you at the 'Gate!" Sheppard slapped McKay's fingers away, "WITH her entire squad!" Seeing McKay's mouth open, he waved dismissively and said, in a calm, reasonable tone, "Besides. The predators are nocturnal. It wasn't even mid-morning. You were perfectly safe."

"But you still LEFT me!"

Major Sheppard stared at his teammate with open frustration, "You were slowing us down. The hard-drive was gonna die. Steve said we weren't gonna make it—"

"And you listened to him!" Rodney accused.

"'Cause he was right!" Squeezing the armrests of the chair he'd snagged, Sheppard took a deep breath, "As it was, we barely got the nutrient bathes ready in time. Carson confirmed that." He matched the scientist's disagreeableness with an accusing tone of his own, "If we'd waited, even a minute, for you to catch up, it would've died. And then you'd be pissed at me for NOT leaving you!"

Unwilling to acknowledge that, McKay changed tactics, "What happened to your vaunted, 'We don't leave our people behind,' motto?"

Sheppard lost it. "You TOLD us to go on WITHOUT you!"

Elizabeth looked up from the data pad Dr. McKay had given to her for examination with a frown, "Gentlemen, please—"

"I offered to have Cadman meet you at the edge of the forest!"

She raised her voice, "There's no need for this!" She fixed the pair, first Sheppard, then McKay, with a stern, no-nonsense stare. "The decision to split up," Elizabeth stated firmly, "was okay-ed by me, based on input from both of you."

Feeling righteously justified, Major Sheppard subsided.

Dr. McKay wasn't so obliging. He spun his chair back to the computer he'd set up on one of the infirmary's lab counters and grumbled, "And the wraith."

Not missing the comment, Elizabeth raised a warning eyebrow, "Yes, Rodney. And the wraith. You said yourself, you believed his advice was reliable."

"Yeah, well, that's 'cause it was consistent with the energy readings…" McKay's fingers began tapping rapidly across the keyboard, signaling his intent to abandon the futile argument. "So," he said absently, "what did you want to ask me?"

Elizabeth glanced wryly as the data pad she was holding. "Well, for starters. You could explain why you handed me this?"

"What?" Confused, Rodney looked back, over his shoulder, at her. She lifted the black pad pointedly. "Oh," he grunted, "that." He returned to the monitor, dismissively waving it off, "You said you wanted to know how I'd get the data out."

"Yes, I did," She perused the Ancient writing scrolling down the pad's touch-sensitive screen, "And I still do. Nothing I've seen on here answers that question."

Sitting a little straighter, Major Sheppard craned his neck and joined her in perusing it. He found the content similarly unenlightening. "Yeah, Rodney. How's your Ancient-English translation program supposed to help extract wraith data?"

"My Ancient-Engli— Why are you asking about THAT?"

"'Cause I wanna know what it's got to do with this."

"It doesn't have anything to do with this!"

"Then why'd you hand it to her?!"

"I didn't!" Genuinely perplexed, McKay spun his chair about to face Major Sheppard and Elizabeth. They stared at him. Two pairs of brown and blue eyes flitted to the data-pad meaningfully. Abruptly realizing the problem, Rodney heaved a long-suffering sigh, "Look. Just ignore the software. It's the hardware you want."

Exchanging a look, Sheppard and Elizabeth examined the data pad more closely. It seemed, for all intents and purposes, like a normal data pad. Black, rectangular… 'Bout the size of a thin, hard-back novel, with an inset screen and the Atlantis expedition's insignia printed on the casing. Its sides were lined with various input and output ports, where accessories could be attached. And one of those ports…

"Oh, I get it." Major Sheppard poked at the swaying accessory dangling below Elizabeth's hand. Mystery solved. "It's that thing."

"That 'thing?'" Raising a bemused eyebrow, Elizabeth hooked her finger around the 'thing's' cord and pulled the 'thing' up where she could see it. A thin, crystal stylus rolled onto her palm. It was about the length of her index finger.

It glittered under the overhead lights as Sheppard poked it again. "Yeah, that thing." With a grin, he elaborated, "Rodney stuck it in the wall while we were on the Genii's hive ship yesterday. Used it to get the doors open."

Elizabeth frowned at the stylus. She was pretty sure she'd seen it before. Or another like it… "So, it's a door opener? How does that help?"

Dr. McKay rolled his eyes in exasperation. "It's a multi-purpose, crystal interface. Capable of accessing all sorts of systems."

"Including wraith?" she pressed.

"I was able to get the door open, wasn't I?"

"If I recall correctly," Sheppard interrupted, "it took you a few tries."

"So?" McKay huffed disbelievingly, "It was my first time hotwiring a wraith door! I'm sorry if it wasn't fast enough for y—"

"Hmmm…" Not listening, Major Sheppard took the stylus from Elizabeth and unhooked it from the data pad. "So your plan," he stated skeptically, holding it up, "is to stick this into the hard-drive's shell. Like you stuck it into the wall…"

"Noooo," Dr. McKay gave the Major one of his patented, 'you're an idiot,' looks. "I'm not gonna stick it IN the shell. That would damage it again."

"Then what is your plan, Rodney?" Elizabeth smiled expectantly at him.

Rodney straightened proudly, "I'm going to stick it ON the shell."

"Meaning, you're gonna poke it."

Deflating, McKay glared at Sheppard irritably, "Yes, Major. I'm going to POKE the hard-drive." He refocused on Elizabeth, adding, "Hopefully while I'm 'poking' it, it'll be able to talk to me."

"Through this, I take it?" she hefted the data pad.

"Eventually," McKay shrugged, "I'm working on a program designed to mesh the interface's more obscure capabilities with our Earth equipment. But for now—"

"He'll use a life-signs detector—"

"—it'll require the use of an ancient life-signs detector."

Sheppard met McKay's deadpan stare with an innocent grin.

"Makes sense," Elizabeth said, breaking the sudden silence, "the hard-drive IS alive, after all. A life-signs detector might—"

"No, no," deciding to ignore the Major, Rodney waved her off, "That's got nothing to do with it. The LSDs are capable of way more than just detecting life signs." He pointed at the stylus, "They read energy of ALL sorts. And they're meant to be used with those interfaces. If anything in Atlantis can talk 'wraith tech,' they can."

"I see…" impressed, Elizabeth reclaimed the crystal stylus. Her fingers toyed thoughtfully with it, "So, you plan to use an LSD and this interface rod to access the hard-drive… How long will it take to extract the data?"

Biting his lower lip, Dr. McKay swiveled his chair and clapped a palm to his closed fist, idly glancing at the ceiling, "I'd say… A few days? Maybe more, maybe less. Depends on how difficult interpreting the drive's signals is." He gave a short, humorless laugh, "And, of course, I can't start until it's fully healed."

Sheppard looked at him sharply, "Says who?"

A scoffing smirk, "Your good friend, Steve. Duuuh. Who else?"

Elizabeth set the data pad by Rodney's computer and fixed her chief scientist with a questioning stare, "Did the prisoner explain why the wait is needed?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," McKay rolled his eyes, his skeptical tone betraying an obvious lack of faith in the explanation, "He said, and I quote, 'the extra stress of ignorant probing will upset the delicate balance we've achieved.'"

She raised an eyebrow, "Meaning?"

"He thinks we'll kill it," Sheppard quipped.

"Yup," McKay snorted, "Apparently it's too weak to support both healing and data processing at the same time. Any undue stress could make it crash."

"And by crash, you mean flat-line."

He nodded, "Right again."

Commandeering an absent tech's chair, Elizabeth hooked her hair behind her ears, pursed her lips, and sat down, rolling the stylus between her fingers. "What about educated probing?" she asked McKay.

His response was irritable and dismissive, "Already tried that. Steve refused."

She frowned, "Refused?"

A short nod, "Blatantly and emphatically."

"So that's what the hissing was about…" Sheppard muttered.

"He says," McKay continued, "that he doesn't want to be blamed for its demise."

Elizabeth considered the wraith's situation thoughtfully, "At least, not before he gets the tour…" She shot Major Sheppard a meaningful look, "He's probably worried we'd use its death as an excuse to renege on our deal."

"Yeah, that's my fault," Sheppard winced theatrically with the admission, "I sorta tacked salvaging the drive onto Steve's end of the agreement."

"Did you?" Elizabeth hadn't heard that yet.

"It was a split-second decision."

"I see…" That made a difference in how they approached this… Tapping the crystal interface against her palm, she refocused on Rodney. "Do we know how long it will take the hard-drive to fully heal?"

Rodney crossed his arms, brightening, "Yes! We do. Five days, give or take a few 'guard shifts.'" He shot the Major an amused glance, saying, "Wraith's got a funny way of measuring time, doesn't he? Not today, not tomorrow. Guard shifts."

"Sorta comes with the whole, 'can't see the sun,' no concrete way of measuring time, thing," quipped Sheppard, "Guard shifts are all he's got."

"His Circadian Rhythm's probably in shambles by now," Elizabeth mused.

McKay sniffed, "Do wraith even HAVE Circadian Rhythms?"

"Who knows?" Sheppard shrugged, "Carson hasn't studied that yet."

Quiet descended on the hijacked lab counter as Atlantis's command trio briefly pondered the matter. After a moment, Elizabeth raised a dismissive eyebrow, "So, we have five days…" Leaning towards McKay, she laid the crystal interface across the screen of the data pad, "Plus a few more, give or take, to extract the data."

Beside her, Major Sheppard scooted his chair back a bit and nodded in satisfaction, "Puts us around a week, week and a half."

"Right in Carson's timeframe…"

"Perfect, isn't it?" Dr. McKay sounded a bit too cheerful, given his earlier complaint about the wait, "Gives me more time to tackle that ultraviolet security." He lifted his hand to his radio's earpiece and wiggled his fingers in gleeful anticipation, adding, "Can I tell Zelenka he can stop making preparations for the tour?"

Sheppard glared at him in outraged disbelief, "No!"

Rodney instantly adopted an expression of startled innocence, "Why not?"

"'Cause I said so!"

"But it's the perfect excuse!"

"An excuse for what?" Elizabeth interrupted.

McKay turned, huffing as if it were obvious, "To delay the tour." He opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed heavily, as if explaining were an odious chore, "Look. The arrangement's simple. Tour for data. Data for tour. But weeee," he gestured to himself, then to Sheppard and Weir. Then he threw his arms out, encompassing the rest of Atlantis, "Weeeeee don't really want to give him the tour. We want him to stay in the cell. It's safer for us if he's in the cell—"

"Safer for you, you mean," Sheppard snapped.

"—And this wait's a legitimate reason to keep him in there longer."

"I doubt we could convince Steve of that."

McKay rolled his eyes at Sheppard in annoyance, "We don't HAVE to convince him. He's a prisoner!" Shaking his head, he turned to Elizabeth, "Look, all I'm saying, is we should save the tour for AFTER we have the data."

But Elizabeth was shaking her head as well, "I'm afraid there's a small flaw in your logic, Rodney."

"What?" McKay squeaked, "Where's the flaw?"

She smiled softy, "We already HAVE the data."

"No, we don't," he scoffed.

"Yes," she nodded earnestly, "we do."

"But I haven—"

"The hard-drive is alive, stable, and in our possession," Sheppard stated, "That means we have it."

"But he hasn't helped me ACCESS it yet."

"Which doesn't mean he won't!" Faced once more with his teammate's predictable lack of social foresight, the Major sighed and explained, "Rodney, Steve wants information on that glove. He wants to study it. To do that, he needs to make concessions. Show us that he can be trusted to follow through—"

"Making him wait's a perfect opportunity for that—"

"But WE need to make concessions also. We want his help understanding the glove's wraith aspects. We want his help understanding wraith in general. AND," Sheppard emphasized, "we want whatever military advantage he might give us."

Dr. McKay grimaced skeptically, "How does that translate to US fulfilling our part of the bargain before Steve's finished fulfilling his?"

"'Cause it's not just a 'one-time' deal! Ya gotta look at the big picture!"

Seeing Major Sheppard's patience was thinning, Elizabeth jumped in, "We need to show him that we can be trusted, Rodney. Nitpicking the finer points of this arrangement, taking advantage of him early on, will only serve to undermine our relationship in the future. We want him to deal honestly with us."

McKay snorted, "You actually think that's possible?"

"Yes, I do. The information he's given so far hasn't been proven bad, yet."

A dismissive 'hmmph.' "Yet!"

"And some has proven to be good."

"Oh, really?" Dr. McKay, if possible, looked more skeptical than before, "And which parts would that be? 'The wraith are coming?'" He wiggled his fingers, "Oooo, how terrible, whatever will we— Oh, wait. We already knew that."

Not rising to the bait, Elizabeth gave him a faint smile, "I was referring to his comments about the organic tools. And his cooperation with Carson."

McKay grunted, but didn't say anything.

"Our prisoner's speculation on the tools' capabilities was correct," she continued, "meaning he shared serious, and thoughtful, ideas with us."

"Ideas he couldn't know we were capable of verifying," Sheppard added.

"And from what I've heard from Carson, Steve's behavior towards Atlantis personnel while outside his cell has been impeccable."

"He was pretty polite off-world, too," Sheppard quipped.

At the comment, Dr. McKay pursed his lips petulantly and looked away.

Leaning forward, Elizabeth caught his sulky gaze, willing the scientist to understand. "We're making progress with him. And it's time to take the relationship to the next level. Going off-world was a major concession on his part. It showed he's committed to cooperating. Now WE need to make a concession of our own. And we need to do it soon, to show we're equally committed. The tour of the flooded lab is that concession." Seeing McKay's resolve waver, Elizabeth softened her tone, "We've reached a critical point in negotiations. He's analyzing every little thing we do."

Glancing away, McKay grudgingly muttered, "And delaying the tour…?"

"Would be construed as indecision. Or as a sign that we intend to string him along repeatedly in the future." Her eyebrows lifted gravely, "Both interpretations could undermine his trust. Which is something I would like to avoid."

Silence engulfed the trio as Atlantis's chief scientist fidgeted, reluctantly absorbing Elizabeth's words. He met her eyes for a moment… Then…

"Hmmph!"

Abruptly swiveling his chair away, Dr. McKay swung towards Major Sheppard, bristling with defeated irritation. "This is all YOUR fault, you know!—"

"MY fault?!"

"Yes, you! If you hadn't stopped me earlier, we'd have a legitimate excuse to postpone the tour. Something Steve couldn't possibly complain abou—"

"No," Sheppard began, "we wouldn—"

"Yes, we would!" McKay squeaked, "He'd have called me a hypocrite, and we could've exploited the insult clause!"

"That's not what would've happened!"

"Yes, it is!"

Leaning forward, Sheppard firmly snapped, "No, Rodney, it's NOT."

Taken aback by the determined vehemence on the Major's face, Dr. McKay crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, "Okay. Fine!" He glared at Sheppard, saying in a smug, 'I dare you,' tone, "In that case, what WOULD have happened?"

"I'll tell you what would've happened!" Sheppard jabbed his finger at the floor, vaguely in the direction of the holding cells. "Yes, Steve would've called you a hypocrite." McKay's mouth opened triumphantly, but he cut him off with a harsh, "Then you'd have made an ASS out of yourself by pressing the issue. And I," (emphasis on, 'I'), "would've been forced to rule against you. Which," he quickly added, "would've undermined your authority in front of everyone. INCLUDING the wraith!"

By the time Sheppard finished, Dr. McKay was staring at him with a mixture of outrage and astonished disbelief, "Forced to rule agai— You'd have ruled against me?!"

Unabashed, Sheppard nodded, "Yeah."

"WHY?!"

"For the same reason we're not gonna postpone the tour."

"That doesn't— They're completely different situations!"

"No, they're not," sighing, Sheppard mussed his hair and glanced at Elizabeth, who was watching the exchange with interest. She hadn't heard about Rodney's wraith-baiting yet. "You spent twenty minutes trying to trick Steve into insulting you—"

"Twenty minutes?" Elizabeth raised an impressed eyebrow.

He nodded, "Yeah. Twenty. I'm not exaggerating."

"Oh, for the love of—"

Sheppard cut McKay's grumbling off, "By doing that, you created a blatantly unfair situation. One which he took advantage of t—"

"Took advantage of?!" blurted McKay, "How'd he take advantage of it?"

"He boxed me into a corner!" Sheppard snapped, amazed at his teammate's obliviousness. "If I'd let him call you a hypocrite, I'd have been forced to chose between supporting you and supporting the spirit of our agreement."

"The 'spirit of our—" Dr. McKay scoffed rudely, "What on Earth is THAT?!"

"Fairness and reciprocity," Elizabeth murmured.

The Major pointed to her deferentially, "What she said."

"How is supporting ME not fair?"

At Rodney's continuing bafflement, Sheppard suppressed a 'shoot me now' sigh. "If I'd supported you by canceling or postponing the tour, I would've been telling him that the people of Atlantis stick together, regardless of the situation—"

"Again. How is that bad?"

"It implies that we don't care whether we're right or wrong. That we'll abandon arrangements on a single person's word, whether Steve has a legitimate grievance or not. That every deal he makes is in constant danger of being revoked."

Elizabeth was nodding, "Which, in turn, tells him that he has no chance of ever negotiating with us on equal footing—"

"Hello, he's a prisoner…? Prisoner's don't negotiate on equal footing!"

"You're not seeing the big picture, Rodney. If you and Carson figure out how that glove works? How to duplicate it? That could be the first step towards Atlantis acquiring wraith allies—"

"Do we WANT wraith allies?"

"If it means wraith stop feeding on humans," muttered Sheppard, "Yes."

"—And allies negotiate on equal footing," Elizabeth continued. "Our reluctant guest downstairs could, quite possibly, become a willing one in the future."

Dr. McKay was starting to look thoughtful once more, "Okay, say for one millisecond that I accept that preposterous explanation. How is supporting the amorphous 'spirit of our agreement' as bad as supporting me? I fail to see this metaphorical 'box' he cornered Sheppard into."

"Right!" Major Sheppard clapped his hands together, "Here's the rub. Supporting the agreement says, 'We're playing fair. You have protection. We recognize that some things are beyond your control.' Like McKay's wraith-baiting." He shrugged and spread his hands again, grinning ironically, "Unfortunately, it also tells him we're divided on issues. We don't all think alike. That it's possible to gain allies. Or enemies—"

"And, more importantly," Elizabeth interjected, "that it's possible to play us off one another. That manipulation is a valid tool for achieving goals."

"United we stand…" Sheppard mused dramatically.

"Divided we fall," McKay absently finished, "You're right. That's not much better than the other option…"

"But it IS better than telling him his cause is hopeless. Which is why, if forced, it's the one I was gonna choose."

As their chief scientist frowned pensively, Elizabeth glanced at Sheppard worriedly, "That we're even having this conversation tells me manipulation by our prisoner is a legitimate concern."

"He's a sly, life-sucking bug, all right…"

"You did the right thing by interrupting, John. By poising the dilemma in the first place, he narrowed our reaction down to two options. This way, he can't be sure which philosophy we'd take."

"Oh, he'll figure it out soon enough. His observations of our actions will, ultimately, point him one way. He's smart. It'll be the right way."

"But it WILL slow his assessment of us. Keep him guessing for a while."

Sheppard did a lazy half-spin in his chair, "Maybe not as long as you think—"

"I don't buy it." Chuckling, Dr. McKay turned back to his computer dismissively, "Nope. Uh-uh. You guys are reading way too far into this."

Elizabeth frowned at him, "What do you mean, Rodney?"

"I don't believe for a second that that wraith is thinking about this the way you are." McKay gave a short laugh, "Think about it. He's an alien insect. How can he possibly understand the complex thought processes you're going through to come up with this stuff? Heck, I don't understand them. And I'm the same species!"

"Carson says his brain is very similar to ours."

"But it's ONLY similar," snorting derisively, Dr. McKay turned back to them, "You know what I think? I think he lost his temper, and got mad at me." His fingers flitted through the air as he spoke, "Nothing more, nothing less." They flew up, staying Sheppard's fledgling protest, "Granted, there might have been some… Mild, curiosity on his part as to what Major Sheppard would DO when he actually insulted me. But I'm sure it bears no resemblance to the profound stratagems and dramatic intrigue you've just described. Whatever you're seeing is the result of pure coincidence."

"Coincidence?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, "How so?"

"We're human," McKay grinned, "We EXPECT to see human thought and behavior patterns." Suddenly he looked ridiculously pleased with himself, "To borrow a term from Dr. Heightmeyer, we are 'projecting' our expectations onto him."

"So you're saying, everything his manner and choice of words implies—"

"Is unintentional. Complete and total accident."

"Accident my ASS!" Sheppard snapped. He clearly remembered Steve staring challengingly over McKay's head, "Did you SEE the way he looked at me before I interrupted? He knew EXACTLY what he was doing. And he was doing it on purpose!"

"No, he wasn't," McKay scoffed, "You just THINK he was."

"If you'd seen it, you wouldn't say that!"

"Gentlemen, please!" Getting up from her chair, Elizabeth Weir surveyed her chief scientist and military commander with a dry smile, "I think I know what the real problem is." Leaving them to stew in suspense for a moment, she returned the black rollaway to the lab station she'd snitched it from earlier. When she came back, Rodney was fidgeting, and Major Sheppard was eyeing her suspiciously.

"What REAL problem…?"

McKay glanced at Sheppard nervously, "I was unaware 'fake' problems existed…"

"Perhaps," Elizabeth conceded, "it would more accurate for me to say I know what the 'root' of this problem is."

"Okaaayyy," Sheppard frowned warily, "So what's the 'root' problem?"

"The root of the problem is this," She turned to Dr. McKay.

"What're you looking at ME for?" he squeaked.

"Despite your admirable desire to further the cause of science," Elizabeth began kindly, "This conversation has made it clear that you, Rodney, are not as comfortable with the idea of collaborating with our prisoner as you claimed at the last briefing."

"What!? How do you figure tha—"

"You're looking for excuses to keep him away from you—"

"He's a man-eating bug! Of course, I want him kept away fro—"

"—And you're looking for reasons not to admit his intelligence. Thereby justifying your position that we don't have to honor deals with him."

McKay blinked at her, "I never said we shouldn't honor deals—" She raised her eyebrows, and he huffed, "Okay, maybe I did suggest it indirectly. But I—"

"It's all right, Rodney," She smiled softly, showing she wasn't angry, "The way I see it, the issue here is that you don't want to take Steve on the tour."

"Yes!" he said excitedly, "I mean, no. I don't. But—"

"I thought we already agreed postponing the tour wasn't an option," Sheppard observed. He was still watching Elizabeth warily.

"We did, didn't we?" she replied.

His frown deepened.

"But, it's a contradiction easily remedied," she continued, after a pause.

"Wait. It is?" McKay was utterly baffled.

"Yes, it is," Elizabeth looked down at him, smiling sweetly, "Rodney, you'll be happy to know, you don't have to take Steve on the tour tomorrow."

A wide, disbelieving grin spread across Dr. McKay's face. Then…

"Dr. Zelenka will be leading it."

Disbelief turned to horror, "You're going to put Radek—"

"Zelenka's spent more time down there than you have lately, and I want you to stay here, monitoring the hard-drive with Carson."

"But, Zelenka!" he protested.

"Would you prefer I put Dr. Sheckle in charge?"

McKay cringed, "No, but—"

"Then it's settled." Patting the back of Major Sheppard's chair, Elizabeth moved to go, "And now, I think I'll be retiring to my quarters." And she left, calling, "Don't stay up too late, boys. We've got another interesting day tomorrow."

Said 'boys' watched her leave, staring after her with disbelief and consternation.

Silence reigned in the infirmary in the wake of the abrupt departure.

Sheppard recovered first. "So…" he glanced at McKay and musingly pursed his lips, "Do ya think she planned that from the start?"

Groaning, Dr. McKay swung back to his computer and threw his hands up, "Look, just— Don't even go there."

* * *

Thank you for reading! Please review! Again, things I'm working on specifically are: 1. Maintaining a Season 1 feel in the flashback chapters. 2. Keeping the regulars in character.

As we're getting further into the plot, I'll now add a three to this list.

3. Making the new and different, (and/or bizarre), things that happen seem realistic and believable.


	16. Chapter 15: Excursion Part 3

Alas, my vow to not let the holiday season delay updating didn't pan out...

However, as with a few months ago, I will attempt to redeem myself by pairing this ridiculously long wait with an equally ridiculously long chapter. (I'm serious. This beast puts all the others to shame, even Excursion-Part One. It's over twenty thousand words all by itself...)

Now re-vamped as of 1-21-10.

I haven't changed anything huge, or cut anything significant, (though there are a few bits I'm waffling on...), but I did smooth a bunch of the places I felt were rough in this chapter's first posting. Any comments anyone has on places that still feel awkward or out of place would be greatly appreciated.

And now, without further ado, I present for your reading pleasure...

The BEAST! Version 1.1 :)

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.

**Chapter Fifteen: Excursion – Part Three**

_**3 years, 47 and ½ weeks earlier**_

Clouds swirled slowly above the ancient city-ship of Atlantis, lazily drifting across a horizon-long expanse of mid-morning sky. Shadows slipped over the rolling ocean that surrounded her, dappling the seawater gently lapping at her piers with alternating splashes of sunny turquoise and deep sapphire. Warm breezes flitted among her spires, dancing past stain-glass windows and tickling the multi-hued alloys of her outer walls. One such breeze swept around the central control tower and headed East, skimming walkways and balconies as it swooped towards the edge of the city.

Nearing the glint of the ocean, it shot up, sucked into a draft between two spires, and crested a walkway, sliding over the smooth surface of a glass-enclosed stairwell. Dislodged by the vibrations of booted feet descending the metal steps within, it slipped down again and raced along a black-splotched wall before finally soaring out to sea, chased by the crisp sounds of crinkly, dark material rustling in its wake.

Inside the breeze-touched hallway, Dr. Zelenka muttered something in Czech and pulled a cord tight, stretching the last tarp so it lay flush against a damaged window frame. The taut material rippled as he did so, producing a deep flapping noise.

"What was that?" Further down the corridor, Major Sheppard poked his head around a door and looked expectantly at the frazzle-haired scientist.

Dr. Zelenka glanced at him with a grimace and tied the cord off. "I say, I do not like having to close these when not raining."

Sheppard shrugged and backed out of the room, turning a circle as he took in his newly battened-down surroundings, "Yeah, well… Sergeant Bates wants it sealed off…"

Chuckling humorlessly, Zelenka checked the knots to make sure they were secure, "Typical security. He thinks our wraith guest will take five story swim."

The Major gave a short laugh, "I think it's unlikely too. But hey. What Bates wants, Bates gets," he shrugged nonchalantly, "Today, anyway."

Satisfied the tarp would stay, Dr. Zelenka paced the width of the hallway and nervously wrung his hands, staring at the damaged walls, "That man is paranoid."

"He's paid to be." Noting the physicist's uneasiness, Sheppard grinned reassuringly, "C'mon, it's not that bad." He gestured to the long line of sun-filled windows, vastly outnumbering the dots of black tarp, "You've got plenty of light, still."

Zelenka stopped pacing, "The light is not problem." His thinning hair flopped in a sharp negative as he scanned the inner wall, waving at a rust-stained grill near the ceiling, "Without working ventilation in this area, closing everything up makes overpowering fish smell come back."

"It does?" Sheppard looked around in surprise. Both the hallway and the room he'd just been in were spotless, "But everything's so clean…?"

"I know," Zelenka's nose wrinkled expressively, "We have only cleared the lab's outer sections. Smell comes from further in," an absent shrug, "Is shame, really…"

Major Sheppard agreed. He hadn't visited the flooded lab in a while, but he'd been hoping, given the distinct lack of sand and fish stink that'd greeted his arrival, that Dr. McKay's bead crews had managed to clean the place up. "How fast does it build?"

"Very fast," Dr. Zelenka was wringing his hands again, "This entire sector will smell like fish guts soon. Will take days to air out."

Sheppard winced, "Sorry 'bout that."

"Not your fault," the physicist bit his lip anxiously for a moment. Then… "Do you think it will bother our guest? Dr. Corde says he has, uhhh," he rubbed a thumb rapidly and distractedly across his fingers, searching for the correct English words, "um, uhh… Highly developed sense of smell?"

"Does he, now?" Sheppard thought back. He hadn't seen Steve sniffing the wraith facility's entrance, but he'd heard about it when he debriefed his marines. And Dr. Corde was convinced Steve had smelled the pink goo from all the way outside. "Well, if that's true, he's just gonna have to suck it up and deal."

"It's not like we can DO anything," Zelenka muttered, "At this point…"

"Not a thing," Sheppard agreed. Bates and the wraith were already on their way.

"Half the places we're showing him are still sand covered…"

"We'll take him to the showers before putting him back in his cell."

The Czech was pacing again, "Probably a good idea. I would not want my personal quarters smelling like this pl—"

"Radek," Major Sheppard caught Dr. Zelenka's arm, forcefully stopping his nervous fidgeting, "It's going to be all right. Steve's got strict instructions to be good. He wants to be allowed back in the future. He'll behave himself."

Zelenka threw his hands up, at a loss, "I KNOW, but—"

"Sergeant Bates to Major Sheppard."

Raising an eyebrow at the anxious scientist, Sheppard tapped his earpiece. "Sheppard here."

"We've almost reached your position. I assume you're ready for us?"

"Just finished sealing the last hallway."

"Good," the reply was clipped, "We'll see you in a few. Bates out."

A string of incomprehensible Czech filled the corridor as Sheppard's radio crackled off. Dr. Zelenka smoothed his shirt and shoved at his stringy hair, visibly struggling to compose himself. "I can't do this. Rodney should be here."

"It'll be all right," Sheppard firmly repeated.

"I've never met an alien before."

"There's a first time for everything."

Zelenka deliberately forced his hands to his sides, "Does it have to be now?"

Watching the uncomfortable man, Sheppard shrugged with sympathetic amusement, "Might as well get it over with."

"Maybe Dr. Sheckle—"

The muffled thudding of boots echoing in the adjacent stairwell stifled his complaints. Gulping, Dr. Zelenka rigidly turned to face the nearest doors. Sheppard smiled cockily and moved to stand behind him, offering silent support.

After a few moments, the footsteps stopped.

A tense second later, the ancient doors swooshed open.

Sergeant Bates strode into the corridor, followed by the organized clatter of today's security escort. Six marines in full gear, including Private's Sheere and Laris, flanked the lean, confidently striding form of their wraith prisoner. They marched forward, coming to a crisp halt two yards from their nervous, open-mouthed, guide.

Always serious, Bates straightened to attention, "Major Sheppard."

Sheppard nodded, "Sergeant." Then he looked past the Security Chief, to his charge. Turning his face away, Steve ignored him, glancing about the sunny, window-walled hall with feigned disinterest. Unfazed, Sheppard crossed his arms and prepared to wait. At the cheeky movement, the oval-pupiled eyes shot towards him.

The Major's tone was just short of flip, "Steve."

Snorting sharply, the wraith faced him fully and cocked his head, sliding his gaze to Dr. Zelenka. His lips drew back with a hiss, "Where is Dr. McKay?"

Sheppard raised an eyebrow, "Dr. McKay declined to join us on this tour." Seeing Steve's eyes widen, he clapped Zelenka on the shoulder and added, "This is Dr. Zelenka. He'll be showing us around today."

The wraith lifted his chin, studying the Czech intently.

Snapping his mouth shut, Zelenka tore his gaze from the shark-like teeth and jerked his hand in a timid wave, hesitantly meeting the appraising stare. "Hi."

Steve inhaled deeply. Then narrowed his eyes and inclined his head slightly, "Dr. Zelenka…." With a slow blink, the olive gaze flicked back to Sheppard, "This substitution is acceptable."

Of course it was… "Good. Glad ya like him," Sheppard turned to Sergeant Bates, "All righty then. Let's get started."

"Yes, Sir." Bates fixed the wraith with a steely glare, "Remember. You're here to see and listen. Keep your hands inside the perimeter."

Steve snorted disdainfully at him, "I will touch only what I am allowed."

"See that you do," ignoring the annoyed hiss that followed his words, Sergeant Bates barked an order to move out and fell into step behind Sheppard, who prodded Radek into motion with a whispered, "Psssst, time to go."

"Oh! Right," startled, Dr. Zelenka hastily started down the corridor. "The, uh, lab is this way…" Looking anywhere but at the wraith, he quickened his pace to a brisk walk and began nervously pointing stuff out. "As you can see, this area sustained severe water damage," his fingers fluttered at a ventilation grate, "Even the ancient, uh, metal alloys… Are extensively corrupted."

No longer feigning disinterest, Steve peered this way and that, politely surveying the most inane details provided.

"The, uh, gaps in the wall show traces of electrical burn."

Steve's pale face obligingly swung towards the nearest tarp-covered crack.

"We believe they were created during the initial short that collapsed the shield."

"A logical conclusion…"

At the multi-tonal murmur, Zelenka glanced back. Steve blinked at him. The physicist's mouth twitched in a brief, uncomfortable grin, "Uh, yes… Logical."

Narrowing his eyes, the wraith resumed his scrutiny of the tarps.

Major Sheppard noted the brief exchange with amusement. It was obviously a passive, (and clumsy), attempt to put their guide at ease. A good sign. It meant their captive's best behavior wasn't exclusively reserved for Carson…

"These particular rooms we're passing, aren't actually part of the lab we're excavating. They were merely… Flooded by association." Reaching the end of the corridor, they descended a flight of steps and entered another tarp-dotted hallway. "These rooms, however," continued Zelenka, "were."

A satisfied hiss filled the air, and Steve's polite scrutiny turned acute.

"Unfortunately, we have not the foggiest what they were doing in them."

Hearing a soft chuff, Sheppard turned to see the wraith's brow delicately furrowing in confusion. "He means, we don't know."

A short silence, in which the alien stared thoughtfully at nothing. Then… "Ahhhh… Not even an unclear idea. I understand the expression, now."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow, but declined to comment on Steve's linguistic enlightenment. He and the security escort followed Dr. Zelenka into one of the rooms branching off the corridor. It contained a pair of gutted consoles framed by piles of carefully sorted fiberglass filaments and rusty wires. Sheppard recognized scorched crystal trays laid out on the lab counter that ran the length of the room's pentagonal walls.

Zelenka watched nervously as Steve stopped within his circle of guards and slowly turned a 360, taking in the damage with an increasingly disgusted sneer.

"Nothing in this room, or any others on this level, works."

A sharp snort, "The local data storage devices…?"

"All fatally corroded. Not even a byte remains."

"And there is no way to find out what these machines were used for?"

"Uh… Not yet." Zelenka glanced at the counter, "However—"

The wraith's long hair fanned as he spun to face the physicist, attracted by the unexpectedly optimistic tone.

"—we did manage to salvage most of the crystal circuits." Warming to the topic, Dr. Zelenka crossed to one of the crystal trays. He pulled out a small plastic bag. Thin crystal circuit boards, roughly the size of playing cards, clinked within it.

Steve cocked his head and moved closer, stopping at the edge of his escort's security perimeter. "Crystal circuitsss…"

"Yes," nodding Zelenka held the bag up, "It is our hope that we will discover equipment of similar models," he gestured to the consoles, "in other parts of the city. When that happens, we will replace the working devices' crystals with these. By analyzing how these circuits are configured, we should be able—"

"To deduce the purposes of the devices they were originally designed for." Narrowing his eyes at his nearest guard, Steve conspicuously wrapped his arms over his leather-clad stomach and leaned forward, peering at the dangling bag with interest.

Watching the wraith's face poke out over Private Laris's shoulder, beyond the security perimeter, Sergeant Bates frowned disapprovingly.

Beside him, Major Sheppard noted the borderline glower and the captive's carefully non-threatening movements with concealed amusement… And a healthy dose of exasperation. He was NOT gonna spend this entire tour tiptoeing around the damn tulips! Gripped by a sudden urge to shake things up, Sheppard sidled over to Zelenka and said, "Gimme that." Snatching the bag, he tossed it to the wraith.

Crystals clinked and the beads on Steve's wrist glimmered as his black-gloved feeding hand darted deftly out to catch it. Olive irises snapped warily to Sheppard's face.

"Ya got thirty seconds."

With a soft snort, Steve nodded slightly and began examining the transparent circuits, ivory hair rippling with his motions.

As the wraith pried the bag open, Sergeant Bates's glower swung towards his superior. Sheppard blinked innocently as Steve pulled a crystal out.

"What? He's not gonna hurt 'em."

Inhaling deeply, Steve lifted the circuit, running the orifices on his cheeks past it.

"He wants to know what's on 'em as much as we do." Bates's glower deepened, and Sheppard sighed, "He's not gonna palm 'em either."

Exhaling with a tooth-baring hiss, the wraith dropped the crystal back into the bag, pressed the seal closed, and offered it to Private Laris. "These items smell like fish."

Private Laris took the bag and passed it to Major Sheppard.

"Everything down here smells like fish," Sheppard quipped. He handed the baggie to Zelenka, who did a quick circuit count and replaced it in the tray. "Anything else of note here, Radek?"

Dr. Zelenka glanced uncertainly at the displeased Security Chief before forcing his attention to the question. "Uhh, no, actually… Might as well continue," he returned to the door, beckoning for everyone to follow, "This way."

Footsteps echoed hollowly in the cleared out building as they reentered the corridor and headed deeper into the damaged complex. A soft hiss joined their footfalls as Zelenka walked by several rooms without stopping. Steve's slim form slowed…

"Move along!" Sergeant Bates barked.

Ignoring the order with a disdainful snort, Steve stared at Sheppard, who'd turned to see what the disturbance was. "These rooms contain nothing of interest?"

Dr. Zelenka paused, waiting for the sluggish procession to catch up, "No. They're in the same state as the first room. It is, uhh… Representative of these levels. I see no reason to waste time going into each—" cutting off, the Czech stopped, his expression brightening in revelation. He looked to the wraith, "Unless you can identify ancient devices by sight? If you possess that capability, it would be extremely useful—"

"No…" Dashing his guide's fledgling hopes, the wraith turned his face away, eyes narrowing with a softly expelled chuff, "Regretfully, I do not possess that knowledge. My experience with devices of the ancients is," with another chuff, his olive irises flicked back to Zelenka, "relatively limited…"

Intrigued, Zelenka thoughtfully touched his chin, "Relatively?"

Steve's alien visage turned directly towards him once more, "Among my brethren, there are…" he paused, as if not entirely committed to answering. When he continued, the word hissed from between warning teeth, "Specialissssts…"

Specialists. That was just great. Major Sheppard shared a meaningful glance with Sergeant Bates. Somewhere out there, in Pegasus, were wraith who spent their entire, virtually immortal lives, studying ancient technology. Why didn't that make Sheppard feel better? He stepped closer to the security escort.

"And have your 'specialists' gotten around the gene failsafe?"

Steve gave the Major a haughty look, clearly conveying how big an idiot Sheppard must be if he actually expected to receive an answer to that question.

Said idiot shrugged, "Can't blame me for trying."

A derisive snort, followed by a smirk, "I suppose not."

Riiighhht… Eyeing the wraith with deliberate suspicion, Sheppard turned to Zelenka. "Let's get on with this…"

Still rubbing his chin, Zelenka nodded absently, "Yes. The tour. This way."

They continued. At the corridor's end, they descended a flight of steps and reversed direction, passing beneath the area they'd recently left.

"This floor, and the next, are in same state as the ones above."

"Bummer," muttered Sheppard.

Zelenka proceeded along the new hall without stopping, "Yes. Big bummer."

"Let's pick the pace up, then," suggested Bates.

Reluctantly increasing his speed to a brisk stalk, Steve peered through the collectively dismissed doorways with a furrowed brow. Sheppard peered with him. The rooms were eerily similar. Rusted-gutted consoles, piles of sorted wreckage, scarred trays of carefully catalogued crystals… They could've been carbon copies of the first, except that the shapes of consoles and counter configurations differed. And some had larger piles of corroded components, and more scorched trays, than others…

Struck by a thought, Sheppard turned to Sergeant Bates as they neared the next stairway, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

The Security Chief gave a rueful chuckle, "I'm sure I have no idea, Sir. There's any number of things you could be thinking right now."

"I'm thinking there's a Hell of a lot of wrecked equipment down here." Having an aversion to smelling like fish, Major Sheppard had endeavored to avoid Rodney's bead-hunting excavations as much as possible. Being Atlantis's military commander, he'd succeeded. He'd heard the scope of the damage and recovery efforts from reports, but this was his first close-up look at them. It was more impressive than he'd expected.

Bates was shaking his head, "I wasn't thinking that, Sir."

Nodding, Sheppard frowned, "To require that much equipment, whatever they were doing had to be one Hell of a complex project."

"I'm sure it was, Sir."

"And trying to figure out a project that complex without any guidelines or supporting data to even set us on the right track…?" He glanced at Bates.

Starting down the stairs after Zelenka, the Security Chief was patiently silent.

"This is one Hell of an undertaking," Sheppard finally exclaimed, with mocking, yet earnestly subdued, dismay.

"You're only realizing that now, Sir?"

He waffled, "Well… No, not really. But it's the principle of the thing, ya see?"

Sergeant Bates shrugged, "If you say so, Sir."

"I do say so."

As they hit the bottom steps, reversing direction to again pass beneath the previous floor, Dr. Zelenka interjected, "The undertaking may not be as massive as it seems. We DO have some guidelines—"

"Oh, really?" Sheppard quipped.

"Yes. We have Dr. Sheckle's beads. And the glove," Zelenka shot an anxious look at Steve, "And, uh… Let's not forget the organic tools found near the stasis pod."

He had a point. But Sheppard wasn't ready to abandon nay-saying yet, "All valuable items which we don't dare try to take apart for reverse engineering."

"That is true," Zelenka admitted, still looking at Steve, "But we DO know what the final product is. That itself is a guideline."

Sheppard 'hmmmed' a moment. "I suppose I can give you that."

"And we have a general idea of who was working on i—" Cutting himself off, the physicist tore his gaze from the wraith, who was watching with rapt interest, and wrung his hands nervously, spinning towards Major Sheppard. "I'm sorry. Should we be having this conversation in front of the prisoner?"

Feigning surprise, Sheppard turned to said prisoner. Steve straightened and cocked his head, oval-pupiled eyes blinking innocently.

"I don't see why not. Why else would I bring it up?"

Opening his mouth, Zelenka quickly closed it again, at a loss.

"Look. He already knows we're clueless." Seeing Sergeant Bates frown, Sheppard traded his flip tone for a serious one, "I told Steve we don't know much about the glove last week. If he's gonna be tryin' to pry information out of us, he might as well know up front how little there is to get. It'll save everyone a lot of frustration in the future." His blue eyes skewered the wraith warningly, "Isn't that right, Steve?"

Steve studied his captor a moment. Then his eyes narrowed enigmatically, "If you say so," a short hiss, "Major Sheppard…"

Sheppard raised an eyebrow at the mimicry of Bates's recent reply. Was that a trace of skepticism in the chord-like voice? Somehow, he was getting the distinct impression he was being mocked. Or maybe humored was more accurate…

Damn, but it was hard to tell with the wraith!

Deciding to play along with… whatever had been implied, he flippantly raised his other eyebrow, "I DO say so." Let the wraith make what he wanted of that. 'Cause Sheppard sure as Hell didn't know what he'd meant.

Neither, apparently, did Steve. His olive eyes widened as quickly concealed confusion flickered across his face. A sharp, querulous chuff twitched past his lips.

Pleased that he'd managed to reciprocate the bafflement, Sheppard wagged his finger at the perplexed alien. "Exactly."

Dr. Zelenka cleared his throat, "Exactly what?"

"I'm sure I don't know," the Major emphatically stated.

"I see," fidgeting, the Czech glanced in the direction they'd been going, "In that case, perhaps we could continue?"

"What?" Looking ahead, Sheppard realized they'd reached the end of the corridor. They were standing near a doorway that led to the next stairs. "Right. Of course. Carrying on." He hadn't even realized he'd stopped…

A subtle wave of warm fish smell engulfed them as Zelenka led the way through the door and into the stairwell. Sergeant Bates shot the security escort a warning glare as the marines exchanged a sudden flurry of disgusted glances, and Major Sheppard grimaced and wrinkled his nose. A sharp inhalation and explosive chuff told everyone the decline in air quality hadn't been missed by their prisoner.

Sheppard looked over his shoulder as their footsteps echoed off the metal steps. The wraith was breathing shallowly through his mouth, with his lips drawn back as far as they could go. Like a cat that'd recently sniffed something unpleasant…

"Ya gonna be all right Steve?"

Hearing the mock-sincerity of his tone, Steve snorted, "I will adjust."

"'Cause it only gets worse from here."

An irritable growl rattled in the wraith's throat.

Sheppard hid a grin, "Just a friendly warning."

No response.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Dr. Zelenka's hesitant voice diffused the growing tension. "This door, here… It's different from the others."

Pointedly ignoring Major Sheppard, Steve watched as their guide stopped and indicated a damaged control box mounted by the doorframe. "It is larger," he hissed.

"Yes. The locking mechanism is unusually complex."

"Heightened security," muttered Sheppard. He peered appraisingly at the corroded controls. Instead of the usual three-crystal set-up, the panel appeared to have utilized five. There were two extra slots flanking the customary vertical line…

Zelenka nodded, "The extra security suggests that beyond this point is where really important research was being conducted. This is also the only entrance or exit providing access to the protected area—"

"A self-contained lab with restricted access," Sheppard mused.

"Correct. And, if I may be allowed to indulge in speculation—"

"Speculate away."

"—these two facts together lead us to suspect that the floors above, which we have just come through… Were support labs."

"Support labs?" Major Sheppard gazed up at the ceiling, as if scrutinizing their former surroundings through the floors, "What sort of support labs?"

The Czech shrugged, "Obviously, I cannot know exactly—"

"But you suspect—"

"—But I suspect they were involved in performing various tests and small-scale studies. Taking their orders from the restricted area's head researchers."

An approving hiss whispered among the airy supports of the fish-infused stairwell. "An efficient set up." No longer breathing through his mouth, the wraith tilted his face at Zelenka curiously, "What about the first level?"

"The first?"

Ivory hair rippled with a short nod, "Where we started…"

"Oh, there. Right. We, uh, believe that was a sort of, uh… Secondary support."

Sheppard frowned, "Secondary support?"

"Yes. Performing even simpler tasks than the others. Much lower security clearance. They probably had no idea what they were actually working on."

"And you suspect this… Why?"

Zelenka brightened, "Good question! Dr. McKay showed me his ultraviolet security block. Last night, while examining it, I was able to determine that it does not lock away all information on that level. There is a small, unlocked file."

Sheppard hadn't heard this yet, "What's in it?"

"A list of local resources."

"And… what's ON that list?" he prompted.

Zelenka looked momentarily uncomfortable, "Um… Generic lab support functions?" He shrugged apologetically, hastily adding, "Hence my—"

"Speculation that it contained lab support," Sheppard finished. "Not exactly enlightening reading, I take it?"

Their guide ruefully shook his head, "Unfortunately, no. But for this mystery, we on bead-hunting duty have adopted the motto, 'Any clue is a good clue.'"

"Can't argue there…"

An insistent, attention-seeking chuff pulled everyone's focus to the wraith.

Catching Dr. Zelenka's startled eye, Steve blinked once, slowly. "What…" he diverted his gaze to the damaged doorframe, "is 'bead-hunting' duty?"

Regaining the composure he'd lost when the olive irises skewered him, Zelenka smiled slightly and lifted a knowing finger, "I will show you. But first…" He patted the corroded control panel and walked quickly into the new hall, beckoning for Steve to follow, "First we must visit the stasis pod." Chuckling, Zelenka muttered something in Czech and shook his head, adding a quiet, English, "Am getting ahead of myself…"

* * *

**Meanwhile…**

"Just when I thought this couldn't get any weirder…" Arms crossed, Dr. Weir stared into the rescued hard-drive's intake tank with a mix of mild disgust and fascination. Seemingly overnight, the tentacle floating in its depths had developed a distinct ring of fleshy tissue along its severed edge. Looking up, she scanned the infirmary for the white, lab-coated form of Carson, "Have you seen this?"

Hearing her bemused inquiry, Dr. Beckett replaced the nutrient concentrates he was organizing on their shelf and made his way over to her. "Strange, isn' it?" He stopped on the other side of the Plexiglas cube and joined her in surveying its contents, "Steve told me yesterday tha' this would 'appen."

"What is it doing, exactly?"

Beckett shrugged, "Near as ah can tell?" Suddenly sounding pleased, he broke into a proud grin, "It's growin' a heart."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, "A heart?"

"Aye. Or half o' one, anyway." Seeing her other eyebrow lift expectantly, Carson quickly elaborated, "Right now, the hard-drive itself is producing the power and muscle contractions necessary to draw fluid into its carapace. It's muscular ability, however, is limited. It's not designed to operate as a pump for an extended period of time, and surviving in this fashion is putting a tremendous strain on its system."

"So, in addition to healing, it needs to relieve this strain…?"

Carson nodded, "An' to tha' effect, it's growin' a new pump." He laughed softly, impressed, "It's fascinatin', really. There's a thin layer of undifferentiated cells embedded within the tissue of these vascular organs," he indicated the intake and waste tentacles, "When those cells sensed tha' they'd been exposed to air, an' the nutrient bath, it triggered a chemical cascade. An' tha' cascade told 'em to begin growin'."

Intrigued, Dr. Weir straightened from her bent position and regarded Dr. Beckett thoughtfully from across the tank, "Just like that?"

"Just like tha'. The process is virtually identical to the way stem cells in embryos use chemical signals to determine which body part they become."

"I see…" Elizabeth looked down at the severed intake tentacle. The dusky bulge ringing its severed end distorted with the slow rippling of the rose-tinted fluid. "And right now those chemical signals are telling the cells to become a heart."

Carson nodded, "Aye. A rudimentary one. Accordin' to Steve, it'll consist o' two valves connected by a muscular tube. It'll suck in liquid and accelerate it through the drive's vascular system usin' the process o' peristalsis—"

"Peristalsis?" Dr. Weir frowned. The term sounded familiar.

"Wave-like muscle contractions," Beckett explained, " specifically designed to move substances through tubes. Like swallowin', or pushin' food through intestines."

"I see…" Struck by a sudden thought, Weir stepped briskly past the large tank containing the patched ovoid and peered down into the orangey-pink fluid of the waste tank. As she'd suspected, the waste tentacle had acquired a similar bulge. "So what's this one making?" she mused, "Surely it doesn't need two hearts?"

"No," Carson confirmed, "It doesn't. But it DOES need a way to regulate its internal pressure. By growin' a second pair o' valves, it'll gain the muscular ability to expel waste fluid while simultaneously regulatin' its internal pressure."

Elizabeth 'hmmed' thoughtfully, "A dual-purpose growth plan…"

"Aye. An' a bloody clever one." Thrusting his hands into his lab coat's oversized pockets, the Scotsman met Dr. Weir's pensive gaze seriously, "This organic technology is amazin', Elizabeth. Stem cell manipulation this advanced—Stem cell programming, basically… It's light years ahead o' Earth. If we could figure out how it works, the medical applications alone would be nothin' short o' astoundin'."

Trailing a finger along the top of the Plexiglas waste tank, Dr. Weir glanced at the sedately floating hard-drive. "So it has potential…"

"Incredible potential."

Her chocolate eyes skewered Beckett's blue ones, "Potential beyond the obvious military advantages we would gain."

Beaming, Carson earnestly replied, "Far beyond."

Smiling softly, Dr. Weir crossed her arms and studied the improvised set-up, sadly shaking her head, "It's a shame we can't keep it longer…"

"Ah know. The chemistry lads 'ave made progress on designin' a filter to help recycle the nutrients. But they're not finished yet. With more time, ah'm sure they'll succeed. Ah just can't guarantee tha' it'll be ready quickly enough to relieve—"

"The strain on our limited supplies." Elizabeth nodded, "That's all right. I highly doubt this is the last wraith hard-drive we'll encounter. Even if we lose this one sooner than we'd like, whatever we construct can be used for preserving the next."

Dr. Beckett shrugged, "Ah understand. But it'd be nice if it didn' come to tha—"

The distinctive Swoooosh of an ancient door sliding open a few yards away made Dr. Weir and Beckett turn. The slim form of Teyla Emmagen, casually dressed in one of her peoples' trademark, laced-V-neck shirts and a skirt, was standing in the doorway. Her dark eyes swept the room, fixing quickly on Dr. Weir. Apparently finding what she was looking for, the Athosian broke into a congenial smile and entered the infirmary, walking confidently towards them as the entrance swished shut behind her.

"Teyla," Dr. Weir greeted pleasantly.

"Good mornin' lass."

Teyla nodded respectfully to each of them, "Good morning Carson. Dr. Weir."

Dr. Beckett moved around the tanks, to stand by Elizabeth, "To wha' do ah owe the pleasure of this visit? Yer not feelin' sick, ah hope?"

"No, Carson. I am quite well. Thank you for your consideration." Teyla's serene gaze slid to his companion, "Actually, I came to see Dr. Weir." She lifted an inquiring, caramel eyebrow at the expedition leader, "I heard you wished to see me?"

"Yes," surprised, Elizabeth frowned slightly, "But I thought the message I sent said to meet me in my office…?"

"It did," Teyla sounded apologetic, "however, I was planning to make a trip to the mainland today. It was my hope that, if you had time, we could meet earlier. Dr. Grodin told me you were down here when I visited the Gateroom," she glanced inquiringly at Beckett, "If I am interrupting something, I can come back later…?"

Understanding, Dr. Weir shook her head, "No, you're not interrupting. Carson and I were just remarking on our latest acquisition's odd growth potential."

Brow furrowing, the Athosian looked at the tank behind them with confusion, "It is healing well, I take it?" The gashes in the hard-drive's shell were still visible as pulsing dips in the tautly stretched membranes. But they seemed smaller…

"More than healin'," Dr. Beckett grinned, "It's growin' entirely new organs."

"I see…" Teyla's expression belied her words.

"I'm sure Carson will be happy to explain it to you," Elizabeth cut in, "But first, let's have that discussion I asked for."

Taking the hint, Dr. Beckett shot a glance at the metal rack holding the concentrates he'd been working with earlier, "In tha' case, ah'll get back to organizin' the nutrients set aside for this beastie. If ye need me after, ah'll be right over there."

"Thank you, Carson," Dr. Weir smiled. As the doctor excused himself and headed for the far corner of the infirmary's large entry room, Dr. Weir led Teyla over to a counter that'd been set up for the night staff assigned to monitor the hard-drive. It was deserted now, so she appropriated two of its rolling chairs, "Have a seat, Teyla."

The Athosian sat, and Elizabeth joined her, smoothly positioning the rolling furniture so they could speak easily, face-to-face.

"What did you wish to discuss, Elizabeth?"

Dr. Weir watched their Pegasus ally closely as she began, "I would like to hear your opinion on a matter concerning our prisoner."

Teyla's eyes darkened briefly, a fleeting shadow of unease, "And what matter would that be?"

"Last night, during a discussion of yesterday's events, Major Sheppard, Dr. McKay, and myself touched upon the subject of potential manipulation."

Teyla frowned, "Manipulation?"

Weir nodded, "Yes. By our prisoner. Namely, the possibility that he will attempt to turn members of this expedition against each other. Or indirectly influence them to take actions furthering his own ends."

"I see…" Teyla settled her arms on her chair's padded armrests, thinking seriously. "May I ask what aspect of this problem you wish me to focus on?"

"Of course," Dr. Weir hooked an errant curl behind her ear, "Knowing what you do of Wraith, how pressing an issue do you believe this is?"

"Ahhh…" Closing her eyes, Teyla took a deep breath and slowly released it in a meditative sigh. Her eyes opened again, "That is a difficult question."

"But one you've already considered, I assume," Elizabeth said, raising an eyebrow. The Pegasus native did not seem surprised by the topic…

"Yes. I have considered it at length. Ever since our prisoner began showing signs of…" a note of skepticism entered Teyla's voice, "cooperating."

"And…?" Dr. Weir prodded, expectantly, "What did you conclude?"

Teyla studied the infirmary floor intently for a moment, then glanced up with a rueful smile, "It is a legitimate concern. However," her tone turned regretful, "as much as I would prefer to advise otherwise, I do not believe it is a pressing worry."

Intrigued by the unexpected verdict, Elizabeth watched her curiously, "Why not?"

"Because he is Wraith," Teyla announced, "Odd though that reasoning must seem…" Smoothing her skirt, she took a few, collective seconds to organize her thoughts. Dr. Weir waited patiently for her to continue. "Normally to Wraith, humans are food, nothing more," Teyla shook her head, "They care nothing for our habits, or our culture. They take what they wish, when they wish. Feeling no need to explain themselves. We are utterly beneath them," Her brown eyes caught the expedition leaders', "And they are confident in their superiority. In that confidence, Wraith routinely force humans to bend to their will. It is their method of choice."

"Why waste time talking to someone unlikely to listen when you can achieve a more satisfying effect faster without bothering," Elizabeth murmured.

"Exactly," Teyla smiled slightly, "And the hate their use of force engenders in humans is irrelevant to them. They have no incentive to learn how to manipulate us."

Dr. Weir leaned forward with interest, "But our wraith DOES have incentive…"

The Athosian nodded, "He is in a unique position."

"Wouldn't that make him more likely to engage in manipulation?"

"Yes," Teyla agreed, "However, everything he has experienced up until now in his life, makes him unlikely to succeed. He never learned to read us."

"He's starting from scratch," Elizabeth frowned. That explained why Steve was always watching Atlantis's personnel so intently…

"But humans, as individuals, are not easily understood," continued Teyla, "Your people especially…" a note of wonder entered her voice, "You're from another galaxy. Your society has advanced far beyond any the Wraith have ever seen. Your values and your ideals… Your denial of his superiority. He cannot hope to learn the subtleties of interacting with humans as equals in such a short period of time. He is too prejudiced."

Weir listened to their Pegasus ally's speech with appreciation. Teyla truly had given the matter serious, and fair, consideration. Her ability to remain impartial while discussing sensitive issues, especially considering this issue involved a wraith, of whom she openly disapproved, was amazing. Elizabeth felt her respect for the Athosian leader jump another notch. "So his attempts to manipulate us won't amount to much?"

"No," Teyla paused, then added, "At least, not in the near future."

"What about yesterday?" Dr. Weir inquired, "Major Sheppard claims our unwilling guest managed to back him into a corner. Can you account for that?"

A glint of repressed mirth twinkled in her ally's dark eyes, "While I respect Dr. McKay greatly as a scientist, he is not the most skillful at reading social cues."

"That's an inoffensive way of putting it."

Teyla smiled, acknowledging the implied compliment, "Though I was ahead scouting for much of the incident to which you refer, it was described to me, in detail, over breakfast," Lieutenant Ford had recounted McKay's wraith baiting with gleeful relish, "Given what occurred, I am confident that our prisoner merely took advantage of an opportunity created by Dr. McKay's carelessness. He could not have engineered the situation without help, and Major Sheppard noticed the danger with ample time to avert it." She shook her head, "The conflict is not one I would regularly expect to see."

Dr. Weir 'hmmmed' pensively. "So… He can recognize a useful situation in time to take advantage of it—"

"But any attempts to engineer similar situations on his own will be clumsily executed and easy to spot. By all but the most socially inept of us."

In other words, don't leave Rodney alone with him. Amused, Elizabeth studied Teyla a moment, struck by the confident tone and notable lack of hesitation in her last statement. "You sound very sure of yourself, Teyla. May I ask why?"

Mirth twinkled in the Athosian's eyes again. "You may," she pushed her caramel hair back, nodding over her shoulder, towards the trio of tanks, "In the abandoned base, after the hard-drive was acquired, our Wraith prisoner attempted to manipulate Major Sheppard a second time. Without McKay's aide."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, "Did he, now?" Certain persons had neglected to mention this last night, "What form did this manipulation take?"

Teyla's full lips twitched in a grin, "He attempted to use the threat of your displeasure to make Major Sheppard move faster."

Interesting… "I assume he failed…?"

"Indeed," Teyla's grin widened, "the Major was… Considerably unimpressed by the attempt."

"Oh?" Weir could just imagine, "How did he handle it?"

A quirked eyebrow, "He laughed in the prisoner's face," Teyla's eyes slipped closed in appreciation of the memory, "Quite loudly, I might add."

"I see…" Elizabeth suddenly wished she'd been there.

"Merriment at his expense continued, in a subdued fashion, for several minutes."

"And our prisoner's reaction to this?"

Teyla's eyes opened again, "He was vocally confused. And it was clear he neither understood, nor enjoyed the experience." Suppressing her amusement, Teyla turned serious, "I do not believe he will make another attempt for a while."

"Not until he learns more about us, you mean."

"That is correct."

Satisfied with the exchange, Dr. Weir leaned back in her chair, signaling the end of the interview. "Thank you for your time, Teyla. As usual, your insights are enlightening." She raised an eyebrow, inviting, "Before we adjourn, is there anything else you'd like to add?"

Teyla Emmagen shook her head, "Not at this moment."

Elizabeth smiled, nodding, "Then I see no reason to keep you from preparing for your trip. Please say hello to Halling and Jinto for me."

Standing as Dr. Weir got to her feet, Teyla helped her return the chairs to their proper place, "I will tell them. But I am not leaving quite yet." Her gaze swept the infirmary's oversized foyer, stopping on the rack that'd been set up to hold the hard-drive's supplies, "I believe Carson promised to explain how our living-computer is…" Teyla's brow furrowed in amused confusion, "Growing something…?"

Dr. Weir laughed, "He did promise, didn't he? I wouldn't mind listening to the explanation again myself. The concept is fascinating. Odd, but fascinating."

"Then I would be happy to have you accompany me."

Chatting amiably, the Athosian and Atlantis's expedition leader strolled into the maze of the infirmary, hoping to figure out where Dr. Beckett had gone.

* * *

**Meanwhile…**

Miles away, in the formerly flooded lab, an explosive snort reverberated against the corroded walls of a lethally scorched, (and tragically defunct), stasis alcove.

"Told ya not to open it."

Averting his face from the source of the pungent corpse decay he'd just released, Steve curled his lips in disgust and shot Major Sheppard a shocked glare.

"Don't look at me," Sheppard protested, innocently raising his hands, "It's not MY fault you didn't listen."

An accusing hiss slithered through the room, "You might have warned me before I finished prying the lid off!" Steve snapped.

The Major feigned hurt, "But you were having so much fun."

Sharply expelling a lungful of air in a derisive chuff, the wraith rolled his eyes dismissively and gingerly bent to examine the contents of the now-open box he was holding. A black, amorphous mass lay limply in the cloudy water within, glistening with the gelatinous translucency of a beached jellyfish. Steve ran his cheeks past it. He winced, flinching halfway through the first pass. Hastily abbreviating the remaining motions, he replaced the lid and pressed the seal into place, using a single, deft swipe of his ungloved palm. "Your assessment of this glove's condition was not an exaggeration, Major. It is indeed 'melting into a puddle,'" Ivory hair swinging, Steve set the box distastefully on the counter where he'd found it, "We will learn nothing from this." He turned to explore the broken stasis alcove.

Exchanging a glance with Dr. Zelenka, Sheppard frowned, "You sure about that?"

"Yes," an absent snort, "Any information that might've been preserved has been corrupted by mingling tissue decay. Failing to separate the remains of the device completely from its host was a mistake."

"Yeah, well… We did the best we could." Sheppard grimaced, remembering what the gooey artifact had looked like BEFORE Carson began pulling finger bones from it, "They were sorta fused when we found 'em…"

"Very fused," Zelenka added, "I would go so far as to say, inseparable."

Hissing a word that sounded suspiciously like, "Excusssessss…" the wraith muttered something unintelligible under his breath and poked his face into the alcove.

"Say again? I didn't quite catch that," Sheppard quipped.

No response. Steve's gloved and ungloved fingers fluttered across corroded interior panels as he peered at a large scorch mark on the alcove's ceiling.

Moving outside the semicircle of marines positioned to contain the wraith in the back third of the room, Dr. Zelenka craned his neck to follow the captive's gaze. Seeing the burn, he helpfully offered, "We believe that is where the original short occurred."

Olive eyes shot towards him. "Original?" Steve froze… Then tilted his head with a quizzical blink, "As in implying more than one?"

"Yes. The power conduits supplying this area run very close to here," Zelenka gestured to the wall beside the stasis alcove, "We found damage to them. In there."

"Extensive damage," Sheppard interjected, "I assume?"

The Czech nodded, "Structural bubbling indicating brief plasma formation."

Stationed by the indicated wall, Private Sheere edged a step away from it, giving voice to a low whistle, "That's hot."

"Very hot. By mapping burn marks found beneath the algae, our engineers have traced all other electrical damage revealed so far, to this site."

A low, uncomfortable sounding hiss. Steve was brushing his cheeks past the alcove's entry frame, "The Wraith sleeping here was burned alive?"

"No!" Zelenka's eyes widened in horror at the thought, "No, no. Carson assures me he was killed in the initial short. He never woke."

"Didn't feel a thing," Sheppard added.

Steve's oval-pupiled eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he declined to comment. He pulled out of the alcove and turned to survey the rest of the room. Snorting softly, he took a few steps towards Sheere, then dropped to one knee. The translucent claw of his ungloved forefinger rasped across the floor, "What do these symbols mean?"

Sergeant Bates glowered with poorly hidden amusement as the security escort released a smattering of muffled snickers.

Looking up with a chuff, the captive's gaze flickered among his guards warily.

"Those, uh, symbols," Major Sheppard said, hiding a grin, "show where objects of interest were found."

"What objects?" Steve barked. The tips of his ivory hair swept the floor as he bent to examine the yellow smiley face once more.

Dr. Zelenka hurried over to Private Sheere, pointing out the spot where the room's largest sandbank had once lain, "These purple ones over here…" The wraith's face swung towards him, "They mark where we found the organic tools."

Steve eyed the purple smileys beyond Sheere's legs. Then he glanced down, sharply cocking his head, "And the yellow ones…?"

"The yellow mark where we found beads."

"Ahhhh…" The multi-tonal sigh echoed eerily in the sparse, water-gutted lab as Steve rose slowly to his feet. Unfurling to his full height, he stalked to Private Sheere and stared over the marine's head, curling his neck sinuously from side to side. A curious hiss rattled in his throat as he studied Dr. Zelenka. "Beadssss…" Steve's pale lips twitched back with a soft chuff, "Again, you mention this." He lifted his chin, staring down the frazzle-haired scientist, "Again, I ask that you explain the relevance…"

Remembering Sheppard's brief lesson on what to do if he thought the wraith was trying to intimidate him, Dr. Zelenka held his ground and met the intense scrutiny without blinking. After a moment, Steve narrowed his eyes slightly and angled his face away. Relieved, Zelenka nodded, "I will explain. But it is easier to show."

A short pause. Then the ivory head dipped, "I am prepared to observe."

"Excellent!" Major Sheppard announced, "I always love a good observation." Ignoring the disgusted glare suddenly directed his way, he turned on his heel, skirted a gutted console, and headed for the rust-pocked doorframe marking the exit. Shooting their captive an uneasy, apologetic smile, Zelenka hurried to catch up.

"You heard the man," Sergeant Bates called, "Move out!"

Retreating to the middle of his semi-circle, Steve waited patiently while his guards shrank their perimeter. On Bates's signal he stepped forward, allowing Privates Sheere and Laris to close the gap behind him. Like a well-oiled machine, the security escort marched out of the room, following after Sheppard and Dr. Zelenka.

They passed back and forth between one side of the building and the next, traversing corridors laid out in a series of ladder-like, 'H' patterns. The fish smell grew steadily stronger as they went, and yellow smiley stickers began appearing more and more frequently. Slightly weirded out by the sight of a cheery cluster by a grate, (arranged at eye-level, in a giant smiley shape), Sheppard nudged Zelenka.

"Hey, Radek…" he whispered, "What's with the smileys?"

"Ah," Zelenka chuckled softly, "They were Rodney's idea."

Sheppard blinked disbelievingly, "Rodney's?"

"Yes. We were so happy when we found the first beads," he explained, "The odds were astronomically against it. (Or so we thought.) We agreed we needed an appropriately happy marker." Zelenka's nostalgic grin faded as his tone sobered, "That was before we realized…" his lips puffed out in an incredulous sigh, "We had not planned on putting hundreds up."

"Hundreds?" He was exaggerating, right?

Nope. Zelenka was nodding, "Hundreds. We hit 200 a few days ago."

"And you've found more since."

Another nod. "Lots more."

Major Sheppard 'hmmmed,' eyeing a dense group of yellow dots stuck in a corner, on the floor. They were arranged in a fish outline. "Well," he quipped, "At least it's a happy place ya got here."

"That it is—"

"This section's ventilation would benefit from keeping these gaps uncovered."

Zelenka and Sheppard glanced back. Steve was breathing through his mouth again, staring sideways at the black tarps covering the hallway's outer wall with an expression that, were he human, suggested he wanted them open badly, but wasn't willing to admit it. The Major would've found his stubbornness amusing if he hadn't happened to agree with him. The building was starting to smell pretty ripe…

"Ya gonna survive, Steve?"

The wraith's olive eyes shot towards his captor with a chuff.

"'Cause we can always go back…"

Hissing at the flip tone, Steve bared his teeth in a mock smile, "Though unpleasant in the extreme, Major, a pungent stench is just that. Stench." With a distasteful chuff, he looked away, "Though an indicator of physical negligence and ignorance of sanitation, it is not life threatening. No matter how… Putrescent."

Ouch! Sheppard raised an eyebrow, "So you don't mind, then?"

The pale face snapped towards him, "I did not say that."

"Then you do mind?"

Steve stared at his captor. Silence stretched. One second. Two… Hissing softly, he finally narrowed his eyes and drew himself up. The mock smile turned amiable. "Major Sheppard, I would like to make a request."

Not missing the patronizing note, Sheppard feigned surprise, "Would ya, now?

"Yessss…."

Signaling a stop, he turned to face the wraith. Beside him, Dr. Zelenka watched the exchange with wary curiosity. "Request away, Steve."

"I would like you to order your subordinates to open these," the olive irises slid sedately to the nearest expanse of tarp, "windows…"

Acutely aware of Sergeant Bates's almost palpable aura of disapproval, Sheppard made a show of pursing his lips thoughtfully, "You mean uncover the holes."

The submissively narrowed gaze slid back his way, "If you prefer…"

"Nahhh. Windows sounds nicer."

No response. The wraith blinked, patiently…

Deciding a subtle reminder of their guest's status as a prisoner was called for, the Major crossed to the closest 'window.' Steve's ivory head turned, following his movements. A hollow thump echoed in the corridor as Sheppard slapped the rubbery black tarp. "Do you know what's on the other side of this, Steve?"

Steve studied him, clearly unimpressed by the digression, "Clean, untainted air?"

"And…?"

Another blink, followed by a barely audible hiss.

"Okay, I'll tell you what's behind it." Major Sheppard slapped the tarp again and announced, "H2O." Steve's face tilted imperceptibly with curiosity. "H2O saturated with sodium chloride ions," He paused seriously and hardened his voice. "Lots of it."

The oval-pupiled eyes widened with comprehension, "Ahhhhh…"

"Retrieving items of interest that fall, accidentally, into that H2O, is a bit inconvenient. In fact, I prefer avoiding it as much as possible."

"Understandable…"

"Knowing that, why should I order my… subordinates as you called them, to create a situation that might allow a PERSON of interest to fall?"

Steve hissed pensively, sweeping his gaze across the waiting marines of his security escort. His focus lingered on Sergeant Bates, who remained deliberately neutral, then skipped back to Sheppard, "Can you see through fog, Major Sheppard?"

A new digression. Interesting. "Depends how thick it is," he quipped.

"The fog gathering in this building is very thick…"

Not digression. A metaphor! Sheppard played along, "Okay, how thick is it?"

"Too thick…" The orifices on Steve's cheeks quivered as he expelled a disgusted chuff, "I will soon be unable to adequately examine any items you decide to show me."

That bad, huh?… He shared a glance with Zelenka, who looked concerned.

"If he cannot… examine things properly," the physicist offered, "It could be a problem. We might miss something that only he could tell us."

"Assuming there IS something only he can tell us."

"True," Zelenka shrugged, "But if there is and we miss it, we wouldn't know."

Agreeing, Sheppard studied the wraith appraisingly. The alien looked distinctly hopeful… He stepped closer to the escort, "How do I know the dissipation of this FOG of yours won't disorient you, causing you to fall 'accidentally' out a window?"

Lowering his head, Steve angled his face away slightly and withdrew a pace, "I assure you, Major Sheppard. I have no interest in bathing in salt water."

The Major loaded his voice with skepticism, "You're sure about that?"

A soft chuff, "Yesssss… My interest lies only in the air."

Silence stretched in the corridor once more as Sheppard studied the wraith's deferential posture. He sounded sincere. And he was obviously trying to LOOK sincere too… Of course, it could be a ruse. But why try to escape when he was finally in the middle of getting what he wanted? No, an escape attempt now was unlikely. The prisoner was, indeed, in olfactory distress. And, more importantly…

…So was Sheppard.

Nodding decisively, he turned to Dr. Zelenka. "Let's open this place up." He glanced at Bates, "Keep to inner walls where possible," his blue eyes indicated the relieved-looking prisoner, "I don't think there'll be a problem."

"Understood, Sir," Sergeant Bates was too professional to protest the decision in front of Steve, but his expression said Sheppard would be getting an earful later.

That was okay, though. He was used to getting his ear bent by the Security Chief. Bates's job was to complain about unnecessary risks. Sheppard could live with that…

Beside him, Zelenka, tapped his radio, "Radek to Dr. Sheckle. Come in, please."

Nine earpieces crackled to life, "Dr. Sheckle here. Where are you, Radek? We were starting to think you lost your sense of direction."

The Czech grinned briefly, "We are almost to the first sifting station."

"Oh? What'd our guest think of Ground Zero?"

"He found the method of demise, uh… Disturbing? I think?"

A static pause, "Don't we all…"

Zelenka nodded, "Listen, Mira. I need you to undo the tarps we sealed earlier."

"All of them?" The tinny voice held a note of disbelief.

"Yes. All."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow as a distinct chorus of cheers and, "Thank Gods!" erupted in the radios' background noise. An audible flurry of activity followed.

"You have no idea how many days you just made, Doctor," Sheckle exclaimed, "It's worse than usual. Building faster. Colin was about to distribute face masks."

Dr. Zelenka winced, "I did not think it would get that bad."

"No reason to. It didn't last time."

"No, it didn't," The physicist glanced at Sheppard, "We will come to the sifting station soon. When you are finished, send someone to open the upper levels."

"Already on it," Dr. Sheckle announced, "Sheckle out."

The radios crackled off…

"Well," Major Sheppard quipped, breaking the sudden quiet, "She sounded happy."

"Yes," Zelenka agreed, "they all did."

"A little TOO happy."

"It must be very bad today…"

Hearing a guilty note in the hesitant reply, Sheppard peered at the physicist suspiciously, "Any particular reason why?"

"No, not really." Pinned by the Major's 'spill it' stare, Zelenka finally shrugged, "All right, all right. We suspect," he paused, emphasizing 'suspect,' " that there is a rather large source of decay in one of this building's last rooms. Too large for us to handle easily. We've been saving it for last for that reason. If our suspicions are correct, it will begin, progressively, to smell worse as time passes."

Really… McKay hadn't bothered mentioning THAT in his last report. Shaking his head, Sheppard stalked to the wall and began unknotting tarp fasteners from their hooks, "I think your suspicions are proving correct, Radek."

With a sheepish smile, Dr. Zelenka joined him, "So it seems…"

Watching their hurried unbattening, Sergeant Bates frowned, "What sort of 'source of decay' are we talking about?"

"Uhhh… We're not sure," Zelenka shrugged again, "As I said, we're saving the room for last. That includes initial survey. The door is tricky." The cord in his hand snapped free, and he reached for another, "Dr. Paloski theorizes it is a large marine animal. Possibly a trapped, whale-like mammal. Or a giant squid. Maybe octopus?"

Major Sheppard jerked his last fastener loose, "How large is large?" A stiff breeze swept past the corroded edges of the hole, "Are we talking bathtub size? Jacuzzi?" Rolling the waterproof material up, he locked it into place, "Large beach ball?"

"Uhh…" Zelenka's glance was apologetic, "Try large van?"

"Awww…" He knew who was gonna be asked to help move that…

"Maybe small autobus?"

Better and better. "Ya know what?" Sheppard quipped, suddenly feeling disagreeable, "Let's not talk about this right now."

"That's exactly why we don't know what it is."

"Yeah, well I understand your chosen ignorance completely," Wind whistled into the corridor as the Major moved to the next hole and jerked a cord free. "Maybe if we leave it alone long enough, it'll rot away to nothing. Whatever it is…"

Within the circle of waiting, watchful marines, Steve scented the air as the growing fish stink finally began to dissipate. After a moment, he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose. Then he released a long, relieved sigh.

"Your consideration in this matter is greatly appreciated…"

As the tour began moving again, the security escort silently seconded the comment.

* * *

**Meanwhile…**

In the infirmary, Dr. Weir was staring at Dr. McKay with poorly hidden confusion, "No, Rodney. You can't go down there."

"But I should be there! I'm the one supposedly collaborating with him. Not Zelenka. It'll completely undermin—"

"You're not ready. Just last night, you leapt at the chance to avoid it."

"That was before I thought about it seriously."

"The answer's 'No,' Rodney." Cutting McKay's next protest off with a warning shake of her head, Weir added, "Dr. Zelenka and Major Sheppard can handle it. I explained last night, I need you working on the hard-drive interface."

"But I can't test anything yet!" McKay spluttered, "It's just sitting there! Floating!" His hands flapped irritably towards the tanks, where Carson was busily explaining the organic device's amazing heart-growths to Teyla. "What am I supposed to do? Tap the Plexiglas and sprinkle fish food on it? I'm useless here—"

"Start running simulations. Finish your designs. Fix the bugs in your program before they have a chance to become problems."

Huffing frustratedly, Dr. McKay snapped his mouth shut.

Satisfied with the surrender, Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, "You can start by filling me in on your plan."

The sulky scientist was not amused, "I TOLD you about it last night."

"Yes…" she purred, "And you've had all morning to work on it." The other eyebrow lifted knowingly to join its mate, "Unless you expect me to believe a genius, such as yourself, was unable to make any progress during that time?"

Pleased by the flattery in spite of himself, Rodney petulantly looked away. Studying a cart of medical supplies, he grudgingly blurted, "Actually, I HAVE made progress." He shrugged a bit, "SOME progress, anyway…"

"I knew you wouldn't disappoint me."

"It's not terribly impressive, mind you—At least, not compared to some of the OTHER things I've done."

"I'm sure it'll be enlightening," Dr. Weir stared at McKay expectantly.

Buckling under her approval, he gave in, "Fine." He poked the supply cart and entered lecture mode, decisively stating, "I can now say for certain that my plan to use life-signs detectors to interface with the hard-drive WILL work."

Elizabeth clasped her hands behind her with interest, "Go on."

McKay nodded shortly, "And the reason it WILL work is because the LSDs are already programmed to do it."

"Really?" she frowned curiously.

"I know, I know," he carelessly waved her off, "I wasn't expecting it either. I knew they were CAPABLE of it. But actually prepared to—And not ALL of them, by the way. Only a few—" McKay looked at her seriously, "We're going to have to test every LSD we find. Keep the wraith talkers separate—"

"Wraith talkers?"

"The LSDs with wraith interface programs. They've got extra memory and processing power. Shouldn't be hard to identify. A simple diagnostic—"

Weir cut him off, "How many life-signs detectors are we talking about?"

Derailed, Dr. McKay sounded momentarily unsure, "Uh… Two or three? Maybe?" he huffed absently, "We're looking at one out of every eight so far."

"And the Ancients programmed them to access wraith computers…"

"Yes!" grinning smugly, McKay hugged his data-pad, "Just plug it into the computer's user interface and BAM! It starts talking to it."

Sensing a flaw in the scientist's enthusiasm, Dr. Weir glanced over her shoulder, at the tanks, "But our hard-drive doesn't have a user interface, Rodney. Unless I'm mistaken, we left its console on M1X-347."

He was shaking his head, "Uh-uh, not a problem."

She eyed him skeptically, "You're sure?"

McKay chuckled dismissively, "It's a HARD-drive," he scoffed, "It's got an access port somewhere. As soon as it's healed, I'll have Steve tell me where it is. Then it's just a matter of hooking the LSD up and making it bypass stuff."

"You mean, have it talk straight to the drive."

"Yes. Skip the console's user interface completely. It'll be easy—" Dr. McKay cut himself off, grimacing in frustration, "Assuming, of course, that I can get the wraith program TRANSLATED properly. Believe it or not, that's the biggest obstacle now."

"Is it…?" Elizabeth was surprised, "Would you like me to take a look at it?" She was Atlantis's foremost expert in the Ancient language, after all…

"Won't do any good," He gave an irritable huff, "We've got most of the input parameters done already. It's translating the OUTput that's the problem. 'Cause it's—"

"Different every time," she nodded, understanding, "And the translation program isn't perfect yet." Ancient writing was incredibly complicated. Its words and symbols frequently had two or three meanings, and context was vital in determining which interpretation was correct. The translator cut the work considerably, but every file it ran still needed to be skimmed by a language expert, (usually Weir), to catch the gaffs.

"No, it's not perfect," McKay grumbled, "It turned a dissertation on hyperspace physics into abstract poetry. Completely unreadable." He brightened suddenly, "But it IS improving!" his voice rose cockily, "Thanks to my new and improved version 1.1.2, translation times have been reduced almost 40%!"

The number was impressive. However…

"What does that mean in practice?" Weir asked.

The cockiness vanished. McKay fidgeted uncomfortably, "Instead of verifying every other word, you only have to verify every third?…" He glanced away a moment, then muttered petulantly, "And it can recognize the number two…"

She stared in surprise, "It couldn't recognize two?!"

"No," Rodney looked embarrassed, "And before you ask… No, I don't know why, either. I wasn't expecting the modifications to fix the problem, but hey! Not complaining," His lips pursed thoughtfully, "…Probably something to do with letter-shape and font encoding," his data-pad waved dismissively, "But that's not important. What IS important is that the hard-drive's power levels are rising, and the majority of the wraith interface program WILL be translated by the time it finishes healing."

"But you said the output—"

McKay shook his head, "1.1.2 changes translation from excruciatingly slow to merely painful. It's a roadblock, yes. But I'll get the data within Carson's timeframe."

"Okay, then…" Deciding her chief scientist's confidence was acceptable, (considering he was less than 24 hours into the project), Elizabeth switched her focus, "Tell me about the hard-drive. It's power levels are rising?"

"Yes!" Dr. McKay brightened again, "They've been increasing steadily." Tucking his data-pad under his arm, he fumbled out a life-signs detector and directed it at the tanks, "Hah! See there? Back up to five percent!"

Dr. Weir peered at the device being thrust towards her, "And that means…?"

Abruptly bewildered, McKay eyed her suspiciously, "That it's at five percent?" He huffed condescendingly, "It stabilized at zero point three six—"

"But what does it MEAN?" she pressed, "Five percent of what?"

"Oh," he frowned a moment. Then… "Of what it was when we arrived."

"And how does that relate to the readings Dr. Corde took when we first discovered it?" Elizabeth's eyebrows lifted, "BEFORE it was damaged?"

Sniffing primly, Rodney snatched the data-pad back, "Corde's readings came from the entire base. They're not compatible with these."

"So you don't know."

"How COULD I know!?" he squeaked, "The hard-drive wasn't isolated then! There's no way to separate it from the rest of the mishmash! What do—"

"The number is meaningless."

Teyla's calm voice cut smoothly into the defensive outburst from across the room, making Dr. Weir and Dr. McKay both turn. The Athosian was standing by the hard-drive, watching them from beside the intake tank. Alone. Dr. Beckett, (having apparently finished his explanation), was nowhere to be seen.

Smiling sagely, Teyla caught Elizabeth's gaze and continued, "It is the rate of change that's important."

Intrigued, Elizabeth ignored McKay's eye-roll and smiled back, "What's this?"

Teyla inclined her head slightly, "Something the prisoner said yesterday, while we were in the base. I did not understand what he was referring to at the time, but I believe it applies to what you and Dr. McKay are discussing."

"Does it, now?" Dr. Weir considered Teyla Emmagen thoughtfully.

"Yes. He repeated similar comments several times last night, during the construction of these tanks. In retrospect, I am sure he was trying to tell us this earlier."

"I see…" Weir glanced at McKay as Teyla bent to examine the serenely bubbling center tank. Her chief scientist wore a long-suffering expression. "So, the rate of change in the hard-drive's power is more important than the power level itself…"

McKay snorted derisively, "According to the life-sucking bug? Yes." He huffed irritably, "But it's not a SPECIFIC rate of change. It's a generic, RELATIVE rate of change. And this RELATIVE change FLUCTUATES randomly within an unpredictable range dependant on make, model, and the quality of our nutrients." Becoming a grayish-white blur, his life-signs detector shook exasperatedly at the tanks, "THIS is the part of wraith tech. I don't like. It's FULL of inexactness. Too much voodoo—"

Elizabeth deadpanned, "Voodoo?"

"Yup! Voodoo," Rodney wiggled his free hand's fingers, "The biology, mediciney parts of organic technology…"

A short silence filled the infirmary. Then…

"Did it even occur to ye tha' some o' the people who work 'ere might find comments like tha' a wee bit offensive?"

At McKay's frozen, startled expression, Dr. Weir, who'd seen Dr. Beckett approaching behind the physicist, hid an amused grin.

"Well, did it?" Beckett pressed.

Recovering, Dr. McKay glared at Carson, "Does it look like I care?" He 'hmmphed' sharply in disgust, "It's me. What did you expect?" With an arrogant mutter, he added, "You should be used it by now."

"Lovely," Dropping the matter, Carson shifted his focus to Elizabeth, "Yer right, though. An' so's Teyla. The rate o' change is wha' we're measurin' to monitor the hard-drive's health." He jerked his head towards the drive, "When yon beastie's fully healed—An' its hearts 'ave finished growin'—its power level will plateau an' enter a steady, cyclical pattern." Tapping his fingers against his clipboard excitedly, Carson grinned at Weir, "Accordin' to Steve, tha's when it'll be safe to access."

"I see…" she murmured.

"Yes," McKay interjected resentfully, "And until then, I'm not allowed to lay so much as a FINGER on the thing without the WRAITH'S permission!"

"With good reason, Rodney!" Carson frowned earnestly at him, "Any undue stress could send tha' beastie into arrest. It's not meant to be on its own like this!"

"And because of that I can't even probe it?!" Not even remotely pacified, Dr. McKay rounded on Weir, squeaking indignantly, "Half the things I want to do are passive! I'm not even allowed to bounce radio waves off it."

Dr. Weir opened her mouth to ask WHY he'd want to do that, but Dr. Beckett was already responding. "It's for yer own good!"

A disbelieving huff, "How do you figure that!?"

The Scotsman shook his head exasperatedly, "We don' know how it'll respond. If ah let ye do stuff, an' it died as a resu—"

"It WON'T die!"

"Ye don't know tha'!" Beckett glared and Rodney snapped his lips closed petulantly, "If it died, wha' then? Ye'd 'ave lost it, an' it'd be yer own fault—"

"So let it be my fault!" McKay squawked.

Carson shook his head again, "Ah cannot do tha'."

"Why not!?!"

"'Cause Major Sheppard would blame ME for lettin' ye touch it!"

"Oh, for goodness—" McKay rolled his eyes and rounded on Weir again, "See what I'm putting up with?!" She raised an eyebrow. "It's a conspiracy! A conspiracy designed to prevent ME from taking contro—"

"From taking control of the hard-drive away from our only organic technology expert?" Elizabeth gazed at Dr. McKay reproachfully, "He might be a prisoner, but he IS helping us for the moment. I'd think you—"

"Dr. Beckett?"

Relieved at the interruption, Weir and Carson both turned. McKay sulkily followed suit. Teyla Emmagen hadn't left the infirmary yet. Though mostly hidden by Plexiglas, they could see her peering closely into the drive's waste tank.

"Forgive me for interrupting. Could you take a look at this?"

"Certainly, luv," giving a neutral glance to Rodney, and a grateful one to Dr. Weir, Carson made his way over to her. Backing away from the tank as he approached, Teyla side-stepped while gesturing to the rippling, pink-tinted liquid.

"Is it supposed to do that?" she inquired.

"Do wha'?" Not seeing anything obvious, Beckett frowned and leaned out over the waste fluid's sparkling surface.

Crouching, Teyla indicated for him to look at it from the side. As he bent down, she pointed, "There. On the tentacle. Where you said its… regulating valves will form."

"Right on the end, then?"

"Yes…"

Carson looked closer, "Ah'm afraid ah'm not seein'—"

"Wait for it, Doctor."

He waited… The tentacle's severed end floated serenely, dangling in the rose-tinted suspension. Its cut lips pulsed rhythmically with each silent, invisible expulsion of fluid. One expulsion… Two… Still nothing… "Ah don' see—"

A thin, blackish-brown thread shot swiftly out of the tube. "Wha'…?" Another followed. Then a third. Three threads, kinked and thin as hair. Carson estimated they ranged in length from a quarter inch to an inch, "Is this wha' ye saw?"

Beside him, Teyla nodded, "Yes."

Caught in the current of the last expulsion, the unidentified hairs curled and fragmented like ash, then lost momentum and started sinking. Beckett's eyes dropped. A thin carpet of black scribbles was slowly dusting the tank's bottom.

"Bloody Hell… How long's it been doin' this?"

"I'm not sure," Teyla apologetically replied, "It was doing it when I got here."

"Can't be long, then," muttered Carson. He'd given it a thorough once-over before Elizabeth arrived… Eyes fixed on the tentacle, (more threads were swooshing out), he raised his voice, shouting, "Someone get me a net!"

A muffled acknowledgement emanated from the depths of the infirmary as Teyla asked, concerned, "Do you know what it is?"

His shoulders lifted in a white, lab-coated shrug. "Honestly?" Tearing his eyes from the threads, Carson glanced worriedly at her. Then at Dr. Weir and McKay, who'd followed him. He shook his head, looking back at the tank.

"Ah haven' the foggiest…"

* * *

**Meanwhile…**

The second half of the flooded lab wasn't nearly as clean as the first. Instead of occasional grains of sand scattered in corners, there were knee-high piles drifted against the walls. Garlands of desiccated seaweed dripped from gutted consoles, ceilings, and doorways, and the dry crinkle of withered fronds filled the air as gusts of wind found their way into recently reopened 'windows.' Smears of blackish brown mildew and decaying algae coated everything, obscuring the scorch marks that'd been a consistent feature of the first half of the tour.

Looking around, Major Sheppard decided he preferred these rooms. Call him crazy, but he found signs of fiery doom a bit depressing. Plus, the place had a welcoming, lived-in feeling, ('cause of the researchers working in it 24-7). And the shell-dotted mini-dunes made him want to build sand castles.

There was the smell, true… The drying dunes still contained rotting fish and other decomposing sea life, and the dead clam over-tone was particularly pungent…

But it wasn't THAT bad, thanks to the holes—

A particularly strong whiff of decay-riddled detritus wafted out of an unexcavated room as they passed, and Sheppard wrinkled his nose. The wraith snorted behind him.

Okay, so maybe it WAS that bad. But that didn't mean—

"Here we are," Dr. Zelenka announced. The six-marine escort ground to a halt as Sergeant Bates, and Sheppard stopped in the mouth of a cross corridor. Zelenka gestured about the T-shaped intersection, "This is our excavation's current center of operation."

Sheppard glanced around, then moved further in, "Like what you've done with the place…" He scraped a boot across the maze of sandy footprints covering the floor.

Behind him, Zelenka sighed, "Your understated appreciation is noted."

"Naw, I'm serious." Brightening his tone, the Major peered into one of the two barrels framing the right hand doorway, "It looks very…"

…The barrel was full of sand.

Alrighty, then… "…Functional." Turning away, he surveyed the room a moment, then signaled Bates to spread out. The security escort paired off and moved to cover the three exits, leaving their charge free to explore the space. Unsettled, (despite having expected it), Dr. Zelenka shifted closer to Sergeant Bates, and the perceived safety of the bayonet-equipped stunner in the Security Chief's arms.

Holding perfectly still, Steve watched the change in formation with alert, but passively narrowed, eyes. He stayed eerily motionless, waiting for the last marine to finish taking her post. Then his pale face swung unhurriedly towards his guide.

Zelenka unconsciously stepped back, slipping slightly behind Bates.

The wraith noted the defensive repositioning and looked away, exhaling an unreadable snort. Then he turned sharply and paced purposefully to the barrels, accompanied by the snapping swirl of black leather. He directed a disinterested glance into the first and continued on, apparently as unimpressed by sand and seashells as Sheppard had been. At the second barrel, he stopped. Steve's coat panels brushed stiffly against the blue drum's heavy-duty plastic as he secured his long hair with his gloved hand and leaned over it. He rolled his face from side to side in a loose, circular motion, inhaling deeply. A pleased hiss whispered through the intersection.

Straightening, Steve glanced over his shoulder, "Distilled water…"

"That is correct," Zelenka nodded.

"For cleansing items, I assume?" Not waiting for a reply, Steve re-gathered his hair and bent down for another whiff.

"Yes," Dr. Zelenka finally realized he was using Bates as a shield and stepped around him, coming a bit closer to the wraith, "We sift everything here," Zelenka explained, "Every sand pile. Every dead animal. Every sea plant," he shrugged vaguely, "Anything of interest is rinsed and catalogued. The rest is returned to sea."

At this last, Sheppard, who'd unobtrusively sidled over to keep the Czech covered, startled, "Whoa! You're dumping this stuff in the ocean?"

"That is what I said."

He frowned, "Aren't you worried about missing something?"

"No," looking away from Steve, who was studying him with interest, Zelenka focused on Sheppard, "We are being very thorough. Very. Anything we're not sure about is put in storage, for later analysis." His mouth twitched in a briefly rueful grin, "Besides. Even if we wanted, saving it all would be impractical."

Sheppard raised a skeptical eyebrow, "Ya don't say?"

Not missing his tone, Zelenka chuckled, "We've already removed several TONS of sand from upper rooms. There's at least an equal amount left here," he gestured to the sand-filled barrel, "That drum? Emptied four or five times a day. Easy."

The Major gave a low whistle, "That's a lot of sand."

"Yes. A lot of sand which neither Rodney nor I am interested in cataloguing."

"Understandable…"

A low hiss. "And what have you found, Dr. Zelenka," Steve turned away from the water, expelling a curious chuff, "that you consider to be of interest?"

Catching the alien's carefully unthreatening gaze, their guide's uneasy mirth vanished, "Not much, unfortunately." He began ticking items off on his fingers, "Uhhh… The organic tools, which you've already seen. A rotting corpse—"

"NOT on the tour," Sheppard interjected, pointing at Steve warningly.

"—which you don't get to see. A rotting glove—"

The wraith's lips twisted in quickly hidden disgust.

"—which you've recently seen—"

"And smelled," Sheppard quipped. The olive eyes snapped to his face in humorless annoyance. He feigned ignorance, "What?"

Zelenka was still listing, "A few oddly shaped bits of metal… The, uh… glove that you're wearing. And… Of course!" he brightened suddenly, "The beads!"

Refocusing on the scientist, Steve turned his face aside and inclined his ivory head, studying Zelenka obliquely. "I am still waiting to see these… beads."

"I know, I know. Uh…" Glancing about, Dr. Zelenka looked around, quickly scanning the room, "They are here. Somewhe— Ah!" He spun on his heel and jogged to the outer wall. Retrieving a plastic Coolwhip tub from a bunch of crates positioned under a 'window,' like a bench, he brought it back, saying, "Here they are!"

The oval-pupiled eyes snapped to Sheppard as the scientist held the tub out hesitantly, at arm's-length. "Am I allowed to touch these items?"

Smiling flippantly, the Major gave a careless shrug, "Yeah, sure. Go right ahead," he paused, "It's not like we don't know how many are in there."

The wraith acknowledged the implied warning with an imperceptible nod and deferential blink, "I know of no reason why that number would change," he hissed.

"Good. Let's keep it that way."

"As you wish, Major…" Steve stretched out his ungloved hand, carefully accepting the proffered container. Fifteen beads rattled and clicked as he propped it against the leather covering his stomach. "I see…" Snorting softly, Steve dipped his feeding hand in and delicately selected one of the artifacts. Light sparkled through the gem-like sphere as he slowly lifted it to his face.

Abruptly, he froze. Ivory hair swaying, Steve slid his gaze to his captors, "These are pieces of the rotting artifact." A questioning note entered his multi-tonal voice, "The recovery of so many, after so long, is… Impressive."

Humoring the unspoken query, Sheppard shrugged again, "Nah, not really. We've recovered several hundred of 'em."

The wraith's eyes widened in surprise, "Several hundred?"

"Finding more every day," Zelenka added.

"The ones here," a curious hiss, "are from today only, then…"

"From this morning, yes."

Chuffing pensively, Steve looked down at the bead. His focus darted to his wrist, comparing the glistening orb to the ones embedded in the glove. Cupping it in his feeding hand, he closed his eyes and finished bringing it to his face. Light refracted through the polished sphere, dappling his lichen skin with orange flecks as he swept the orifices on his cheeks past it. After a moment, Steve inhaled deeply and paused… Then he repeated the motions… Another inhalation. Another pause…

Major Sheppard watched, intrigued, as this pattern continued. Unlike the security escort, who were exchanging puzzled glances, he suspected the wraith wasn't repeating himself. The thin slits framing the pale nose were widening with each pass…

No, Steve wasn't doing the same thing over and over. He was probably—What did Beckett say the slits did? Right!—fine-tuning his Electric Field sensors.

A long hiss rattled from the prisoner's throat as he furrowed his brow and flexed his black-gloved fingers, finally lowering the orb slightly.

Observing the display with hopeful fascination, Dr. Zelenka cleared his throat as the beads on the wraith's wrist glimmered briefly, "Did you discover anything?"

Steve snorted faintly, staring intently at the bead, "No…" his lips twitched with a mildly irritated chuff, "It is remarkably inert."

The Czech grimaced, "I know," he eyed the Coolwhip tub ruefully, "Their unresponsive state has severely hampered analysis."

A low hiss, "To be expected…" Steve drew himself up, olive eyes sliding towards Zelenka with a disdainful sniff, "You do not know what these are."

"No, bu—"

"Neither do you." Oval pupils flicked to Sheppard inscrutably. Not liking the wraith's superior tone, he added, "But we've got lots of ideas." Sheppard met Steve's enigmatic snort with a flip grin, "Personally, I think they're food pellets."

Tilting his head, Steve glanced at the bead sparkling on the glove's black palm and narrowed his eyes, considering the suggestion with unexpected seriousness. He curled his fingers around it, and the amber spheres dotting his wrist pulsed brightly for a moment. Olive irises swept back to Sheppard. "Such an assumption is not unreasonable, given the circumstances," Steve murmured, "However," a disapproving hiss… "such a label does not explain how they fulfill their purpose."

"No, it doesn't," confirmed Sheppard, mockingly, "That's what scientists are for."

"So it seemsssss…" Baring his translucent teeth with a chuff, Steve turned away, ivory hair fanning dismissively. He addressed Zelenka, "Where were these found?"

Zelenka's hands spread apologetically, "All over. The currents spread them throughout the entire lab. The wildlife constantly was moving them."

"No dense deposits? Variances in concentration?"

"Only in the bellies of dead fish."

"Apparently everything living on the ocean floor found them appetizing,"

At the Major's words, a frown flitted across the wraith's face, "No way to trace the dispersal to its source?"

Zelenka shook his head, "No, none. At least… none that WE have found."

"We ARE open to suggestions," Sheppard offered.

Deftly replacing the bead in the Coolwhip container still resting against his stomach, Steve delicately hooked his hair behind his ears and offered it to Zelenka. "I will learn nothing more from these here. Show me how you find them."

"You wish to continue the tour?"

A barely perceptible nod, "Yessss…"

The orange beads clicked and rolled as the Czech edged forward and gingerly accepted the tub, "Very well." Quickly verifying that all fifteen were still there, he retrieved a flimsy white lid from the makeshift bench by the outer wall and sealed them in. They'd be joining their brethren in the Penny Jar later. "I must warn you," Dr. Zelenka added, tucking the tub under his arm, "It gets messy after this."

An unconcerned blink, "Your warning is heard."

"Always a good thing," Sheppard quipped, "hearing warnings…" While Steve's eyes rolled in disgust, he nodded at Sergeant Bates, who gave the signal to close in. As one, the marines reformed their security perimeter around the wraith, and within seconds the procession was moving again.

Zelenka's warning about the mess proved well warranted. At the next intersection, the sand strewn strip of relatively clear floor bisecting the corridor's wall-to-wall sand-drifts, gave way to a good half-foot of squishy, partly dried mudpack.

Boot slipping as it sank into the pack's damp interior, Major Sheppard frowned critically at the silt-accumulation. "A bit slick down here."

Zelenka glanced back with a wry chuckle, "That is why we make paths through each area before we work in it. Here is still mostly untouched."

As they passed a hole in a drift, a pair of yellow smileys stuck to the inner wall above it made Sheppard's eyebrows climb, "But you ARE pulling beads outta here."

"Yes. We have an advance team predicting the location of deposits."

A soft chuff resonated behind them, "You said the source was untraceable."

"Ahhh!" Raising a finger, Zelenka grinned at the following wraith, "But they are not tracing the source. They are tracing other things."

"What thingsss…?" Steve peered into the hole with interest as he passed.

Knowing this answer, Sheppard smugly jumped in, "Sea life."

A multi-tonal hiss echoed him, "Sssea life?"

"Yup. Following the fishes."

"In what way?"

That Sheppard wasn't as sure about, "Well…"

"By identifying bead-eating species and predicting corpse locations," Zelenka explained, "They've been remarkably successful. It's speeded recovery considerably."

"But not clean-up," Sheppard pointed out, boots slipping again.

"Uh, no. That continues to be the slow part…"

They fell silent, observing the salty, tide-pool-smelling features of the lab, passing doorways choked with limply drying kelp and vegetation. Muffled voices, belonging to volunteers who'd been cleared to keep working during the tour, rose and fell as the group navigated intersections and skirted large breaks in the outer wall. The first visible sign that they weren't alone was a pair of blue-clad scientists clearing a path through a recently de-kelped room. Looking up from their sieves and seaweed piles, the two greeted Dr. Zelenka with friendly smiles, and then craned their necks to stare at the passing wraith with open curiosity. Steve cocked his head and stared back.

Whispers followed the security escort down the corridor.

An ambiguous hiss drowned the excited chatting. "Your kind…" murmured Steve, "truly have no experience with my race. So little fear…"

Sensing the comment was mostly rhetorical, and not wanting the captive to know how enthusiastically McKay's excavators had competed to be allowed to stay, (he'd heard tales of their excessively heated Rock, Paper, Scissors matches), Major Sheppard shrugged carelessly, "Yeah, that's us. Deficient in the fear department…"

The musical chuckle that resonated from Steve's throat startled the marines surrounding him. "Not always a bad trait, Major."

True. He shrugged again, "Not always a good one, either."

"In this case… Perhaps…"

Great. Another amorphous 'should I trust or not trust' statement. Sheppard glanced back to see the wraith's eyes narrowed unreadably. Meeting the gaze, he lifted a suggestively flip eyebrow, "Care to elaborate?"

Turning his face without breaking eye contact, Steve blinked slowly and raised his chin, olive irises sparkling with unpredictable amusement, "I think not…"

"That's what I thought," Sheppard looked forward and continued walking.

They passed a few more rooms being stripped of seaweed and outfitted with paths by pairs of scientists, all of whom stopped to stare at the captive with blatant fascination. Sergeant Bates frowned disapprovingly at the curious spectators, and Sheppard made a mental note to discourage their behavior in the future. A single person, like Dr. Corde, was one thing, but an entire flock of Earth humans trying to get close to the alien was another matter. Limiting the number of personnel Steve had contact with was definitely something he and Weir were gonna have to work on…

Idly musing on the complexities of enforcing such limits, (between Carson's tests, the hard-drive, and the flooded lab, the wraith was already involved with multiple departments), Major Sheppard followed Dr. Zelenka around a corner, only to find the next hallway blocked by a trio of scientists and a low wall of haphazardly stacked buckets. The sand and muck-covered excavators, two women and one man, froze in the middle of plunging a measuring stick into a sandbank and stared at them in confusion. The confusion rapidly morphed into wide-eyed astonishment as the marine escort and conspicuously black-coated prisoner rounded the corner, halting behind them.

The two groups stared at each other in stupefied silence for a moment.

Then…

"I thought you said they were ready for us," Sergeant Bates barked.

Zelenka flapped his hands, flabbergasted, "I thought they were!"

Finding the situation both irksome and inappropriately humorous, Sheppard crossed his arms and eyed the bucket-barricade eloquently.

"We ARE ready for you!" The middle scientist, a 30ish red-headed woman wearing bright blue, elbow-length rubber gloves, pointed back over her shoulder, to an intersection further down the hall, "We thought you were coming that way!"

"We discussed this earlier," Zelenka frowned, "The map I sent—"

"Said you were coming THAT way."

Zelenka was shaking his head, "No, that was Rodney's map. I sent another."

The grey-haired man holding a large chart beside the red head winced, "This morning?"

"Yes."

"That explains it," the other woman, a sand-smeared blond, dropped the measuring stick and hurried towards the buckets, "We came down early. Must've missed the e-mail." Scrambling down off the sandbank, the others quickly joined her in dismantling the wall, "We'll have these moved in a jiffy."

Unperturbed by the delay, Major Sheppard paced forward a few steps and watched the frantic disassembly curiously, "So… What're you guys up to?" Glancing at Zelenka, he added, "I assume this was our next stop?"

"Our last stop, actually."

Propping an empty bucket on a drift under an open tarp, the red head grabbed another and set it by the first, "We're hunting for bottom feeders."

Turning to the security escort, Dr. Zelenka addressed the wraith, "They're the advance team I mentioned."

"The ones predicting the location of fish…" Hissing softly, Steve stepped forward and clasped his hands against his stomach, pale face stretching out over the heads of the marines. "How are they doing it?" Nostrils flaring, he inhaled deeply and expelled an explosive chuff, "From their scent, they have succeeded."

Grabbing the last bucket, the red head paused, "Did he say we smell like fish?"

"That's what it sounded like," Sheppard replied. Though how the wraith could distinguish one stink from the others, he hadn't a clue. The fish rot odor had been growing steadily ever since they entered the 'messy' section. It was building even with all the tarps open. Frankly, he was surprised Steve hadn't complained yet.

The bucket plunked down beside the others, "Sadly, I suppose it's true…"

The older man nodded, "We are the Fish Finders."

"Not again!" the blond's eyes rolled, "We don't need a name."

"Not even Pisces Trio?"

An irritated finger leveled warningly at the man, "Don't even start, Colin."

The Major's voice cut off Colin's reply, "That's enough, people!"

The playful argument quieted instantly.

With the corridor now clear of buckets, Sheppard signaled Bates to bring the prisoner. The scientists climbed onto the sandbank, crowding against the outer wall to make room, and the Major leapt up to join them. He experienced a childish flash of smugness as Zelenka and the escort filed by. There was something oddly satisfying about being able to look down at the tall wraith instead of up, for once…

Sparing Sheppard a disinterested, upward glance, Steve's olive eyes darted across the three new faces with intense curiosity while he stalked through the slick, valley-like mudpack nestled between the hall's sand drifts. Coat panels swaying as he scented the air, he shifted his focus to one of the white plastic buckets, which was lying askew with its contents easily visible. Following his suddenly intent gaze, Sheppard immediately wished it was upright, "Okay. THAT"S disgusting."

"Uncooked fish guts usually are, Sir," Private Sheere muttered.

The scientist next to the bucket righted it as Steve's lips twitched with an inquisitive chuff, "The bottom feeders…" Snorting dismissively, he moved on, murmuring, "Already searched." Not asking for permission, Steve stopped when he reached the abandoned measuring stick and began eyeing the white-string grid laid out around it. "You expect to find more here," Sniffing primly, he turned his oval pupils towards the precariously balanced Fish Finders again, "Why?"

"'Cause their models say so," Sergeant Bates barked, "Now move along."

The wraith aimed an irritated hiss at Atlantis's Security Chief, but stalked quickly to the intersection, allowing the wall-hugging scientists to slither back to the floor.

Once both groups, along with a couple buckets and a pair of suspicious-looking cream cheese containers, were congregated in the nearby intersection, Dr. Zelenka performed introductions. "Dr. Colin Kovskii," he gestured to the man, "Our resident Oceanographer. He constructed a model of the currents that were present here when Atlantis rested on the ocean floor."

Dr. Kovskii nodded at the wraith, "Pleased to meet you."

Staring over Private Laris at him, Steve snorted sharply, but did not reply.

"And this is Dr. Jessi Moore," Zelenka indicated the blond this time, "A Marine Biologist." The sand spattered woman gave the wraith a smile. "She's been using her knowledge of fish behavior to identify suitable habitats on Dr. Kovskii's maps."

"Bottom feeders generally prefer still, quiet waters for resting," Moore offered.

Steve snorted again, but was otherwise silent, eyes already drifting the red head.

Unnerved by his apparent disinterest, Zelenka hastily took the cue, "That is Dr. Mira Sheckle. Trying this method was uhh… her idea in the first place."

Dr. Sheckle nodded, getting the expected snort in return.

Without taking his olive eyes off the woman, Steve's face swung towards Zelenka, "What is her specialty?"

The multi-toned bark took the Czech by surprise, "I'm sorry?"

Translucent teeth bared briefly in a hiss, "Her specialty. You named the others'. Oceanographer. Marine Biologist… What is her specialty?"

Radek shifted uncomfortably, "She, uhh… Doesn't have one?"

The wraith exhaled with a disbelieving chuff, "Doesn't have one?"

"I'm an interdisciplinary scientist," Dr. Sheckle interrupted. Steve cocked his head, blinking curiously. "I don't focus on any one, specific field."

"A Jack of All Trades," interjected Sheppard.

Sheckle glanced at the Major, clearly amused, and added, "But a Master of None." Her attention returned to the wraith, "My job is to identify potential connections between fields. Then I put together teams capable of investigating them."

Steve hissed, studying Dr. Sheckle musingly, "Your kind find this necessary?"

"Yes," Sheckle shrugged, "Our science has advanced so far that traditional scientists routinely miss inter-field connections because of their narrow focus. It's too much information for one person to keep track of constantly."

"Unless you're Rodney," Major Sheppard quipped.

Ceding the point, Dr. Sheckle grinned wryly, "Unless you're Rodney."

Steve recaptured Sheckle's attention with an eerie, throat-rattling hiss, "So… You are trained in pattern recognition."

She fingered the cream cheese container she was holding thoughtfully, "I suppose… In a sense. Yes. That's correct."

"A useful skill…" Pushing his ivory hair back, the wraith blinked dismissively and turned to Dr. Kovskii, "You believe this corridor contained suitable resting habitat for the species you're searching for?"

"Uh-uh," Kovskii jerked his head at Dr. Moore, who was holding the other cream cheese container. Taking his cue, she lifted the small tub and shook it. A familiar rattling sound came from the grey plastic. "We KNOW it contained suitable habitat," his grey head bobbed towards a bucket, "We've found five already."

Moore added proudly, "Got six beads out of the piggy bunch."

Ignoring the container, Steve folded his arms delicately across his stomach and fixed his olive gaze on the indicated bucket. A soft hiss, "May I see them?"

Sheppard startled, "You wanna see dead fish?"

The wraith didn't acknowledge his comment. Unsure whether they should comply, the scientists glanced at one another. Seconds stretched …

Finally, the Major shrugged, "Sure. Why not," he leveled a finger at Steve warningly, "Just don't blame me if it smells bad."

Stepping back a pace, Steve narrowed his eyes as Kovskii leaned past Private Sheere to deposit the white bucket within the security perimeter. After the man withdrew, he swept forward and dropped into an elegantly smooth crouch.

Major Sheppard suppressed a grimace as the wraith's ungloved fingers dipped into the plastic coffin and emerged, wrapped around a limp, obviously rotten, fish. It looked, (vaguely), like one of those little fish tank suckerfish. Only twice as long, and spinier, with silver scales instead of spotted brown… He could see a flat, oval mouth peeking out over the wraith's thumb. Easily big enough to suck a bead up…

The bottom feeder's tail flopped lifelessly against the hard leather of Steve's forearm bracer as he turned the carcass over and ran his cheeks over it. Tattered fins dangled uselessly on either side of his hand, revealing a gutted underbelly.

Grossed out, Sheppard grimaced in disbelief as Steve balanced the corpse on his palm and swung his face over it, inhaling deeply, "Uh, Steve…? What are you doing?"

Sergeant Bates's stoney expression twisted in disgust, "He's smelling it, Sir."

"I can see that," the Major paused, "What I wanna know is why…" Why the wraith would willingly subject his sensitive olfactory passages to a viciously pungent, point-blank assault was beyond Sheppard at the moment…

With an explosive snort and a wet smack, the bottom feeder slapped down into the bucket, rejoining its dead compatriots. Steve swept smoothly to his feet, lips drawing back in a long, sinus-clearing hiss, "Where else do you expect to find them?"

Fumbling for his chart, Kovskii absently muttered, "Well… We finished burrowing into the ventilation shafts earlier…"

Helping him unroll the chart, Dr. Sheckle added, "We're working on corners and stagnant water. Places that were shielded from the currents by drifts…"

Steve pressed close to Private Laris, peering over her head at the chart and breathing lightly through his mouth, "How far down are they found?"

Dr. Moore answered, "Not too far," she glanced hesitantly at Zelenka, who nodded, letting her know it was okay to explain. "The specimens we're finding were buried by shifting that occurred when the city rose. Usually under four or five inches."

Paper crinkled as Kovskii tapped his chart, "The next one is six yards or so beyond this cross-corridor."

Hissing quietly, the wraith drifted to the other side of the security circle and began surveying the sand-choked hallway, multi-tonal voice echoing, "Show me."

"Say 'Please' first."

Olive eyes skewering Sheppard disdainfully, Steve curled his upper lip with distaste, "Why…?"

"'Cause you're a guest," the Major lifted a mocking eyebrow, "And you're getting a little bossy."

A derisive snort, "Am I to ask permission for everything?"

Mirroring the prisoner's disbelieving pose, Sheppard cocked his head flippantly, "When it involves MY people doing what YOU want. Yes."

Eyes narrowing, the wraith lifted his chin haughtily, "Such practices are an unnecessary waste of time."

"Oh, really?" Zelenka and the Fish Finders exchanged uneasy glances as Major Sheppard stepped close to the escort, "Ya got somewhere you need to be after this?"

Steve froze, oval-pupils scrutinizing his captor minutely. A tense silence stretched… Then he angled his face away, gaze flicking to the wall. "No…"

Mollified, Sheppard nodded at Bates and backed off, watching to see what the wraith would do. Hopefully the 'we aren't minions' hint had been received.

After considering the wall a moment, Steve turned to face their guide. "Dr. Zelenka. Would you, please," he hissed the word distastefully, "ask your subordinates to show me the site of their next excavation?" Not waiting for a response, he curled his neck away, swinging back towards the Major for approval.

Well… It was a start…. Resisting an urge to laugh at the blatant lip service, Major Sheppard met the challengingly green stare without blinking. "Good enough."

The wraith's posture visibly relaxed.

"For now."

Pale lips twitched with poorly hidden irritation.

Seeing as the point of the exercise was getting Steve to think about his manners, not to change them immediately, Sheppard addressed Zelenka, "Should we show 'im?"

Startled, the Czech shrugged, "Um, I do not see why not?"

He nodded to Kovskii, and a mucky scramble ensued as the scientists skirted the security escort and began leading the way down the hall. Steve scented the air while he walked, observing the Fish Finders with interest. Stopping by a dip in the outer wall's sand drift, Dr. Kovskii consulted the chart a moment, then muttered something to Dr. Sheckle, who leaned over and traced an irregular circle in the silt.

Kovskii turned, gesturing to the outlined dip, "This is it."

Sheppard led the procession a few yards further on, allowing the surrounded wraith to get close to the site. Everyone watched as the alien bent to examine it.

Steve's ivory hair brushed the sand as he lowered his face and sampled the air above the drift, just like he'd done with the fish… Snorting loudly, he dropped to one knee and announced, "Your prediction is accurate. A bottom feeder lies here."

There was a wet Thwack! followed by a damp, sucking noise.

Before the nearest marine could react, Steve's ungloved hand was reemerging from the sand in one side of the circle, clutching a silt-smeared fish.

The security escort stared.

The scientists stared.

…Major Sheppard stared…

…

Seemingly oblivious to the shock he'd caused, Steve dropped the bottom feeder by the new pit and stood, delicately shaking sand from his hand, "Where is the next one?"

Okaaayyy, then… Sheppard eyed the wraith with exaggerated wariness. "I suppose, after yesterday," he slowly quipped, "I shouldn't have been surprised by that."

Olive irises fixed unreadably on him. "No… You should not."

"Umm…" Dr. Kovskii was studying his chart again, "There!" He jabbed a finger against the paper, and Dr. Moore took off down the corridor, excitedly stopping by another dip. She marked it with a little 'X' instead of a circle.

The tour caught up to her, and Steve's actions of a minute earlier were repeated.

Dr. Sheckle darted away and they were repeated again.

And again.

And again…

Soon Dr. Moore and Dr. Sheckle were scouting ahead of the tour, identifying spots one after another so the wraith didn't have to stop between holes. Leaving a trail of sad-looking corpses and churned sand in his wake, Steve plunged his hand into the marked drifts, each time unerringly pulling out a dead fish. (Sometime two or three…)

They finished the hallway in minutes and moved onto the next.

By the time they'd finished the second hall and started down a third, Major Sheppard could deny it no longer. The wraith was a bloodhound…

"Your model is incomplete," the multi-tonal bark reverberated accusingly as Steve stopped to extract a bottom feeder from an unmarked drift.

"Sorry," walking backwards, Dr. Kovskii studied his chart with puzzlement.

Sheppard amended his assessment. The wraith was a 'Damn Good' bloodhound…

Suddenly his radio crackled to life, "Dr. Beckett to Major Sheppard."

He tapped his earpiece, "Sheppard, here. Go ahead, Carson."

"Are ye still on the tour?"

The urgency in his tone stopped the Major in his tracks, "Yeah, why?"

Beckett's relief was audible, "I need to speak to the prisoner immediately."

A few yards away, Steve froze over Dr. Moore's next 'X,' listening intently.

Noting the pause, Sheppard frowned internally, cursing their captive's keen hearing, "He's a little busy at the moment."

Carson's confusion crackled, "Busy doin' wha'?"

"Digging up fish."

"This is more important than a few fillets, Major. It's about the hard-drive."

"Oh. Well. If it's about the hard-drive…" Signaling Sergeant Bates to stop the tour, Major Sheppard squelched up to Steve. Feigning obliviousness to his captor's approach, the wraith shoved his hand into the thick silt and dragged out a bottom feeder, which he proceeded to examine with extreme, and hitherto unmatched, interest.

Sheppard resisted the urge to roll his eyes, "Hey, Steve."

No response.

"Carson wants to speak with ya." Not waiting for acknowledgement, Sheppard pulled his earpiece off and chucked it at the ivory, fish-sniffing head.

With a leather Snap! the gloved feeding hand shot up and delicately snagged the radio in midair. Shooting the Major a reproachful glare, Steve turned the fragile device over and ran his cheeks past it, eyeing it curiously from every angle. After a few moments, he finally lifted it to his mouth. Holding the mike several inches out from his skin, he hissed into it, keeping the tiny speaker well away from his ear.

"Dr. Beckett… You wish to speak with me?"

Carson's tinny reply squeaked from the wraith's fingers, "Aye, ah do! The hard-drive's expellin' threads o' black tissue. The waste tank's full o' the stuff."

A quietly expelled chuff, "You wish to know if this is normal?"

"Aye! An' wha' tha' stuff is. It doesn' look good."

With a snort, Steve slid his olive irises towards Sheppard, obviously deciding whether or not he wanted to answer. The Major narrowed his gaze warningly.

"Steve? Are ye there?"

After what seemed an interminably long silence, the wraith abruptly refocused on the radio. "The threads are neural filaments," his resonant tone was unconcerned, "The hard-drive's terminal interface was severed during extraction."

"When ye cut the nutrient tubes, ye mean?"

"Yesss… Without the console's life support, they are unable to survive. The drive is merely expelling them before they turn toxic."

Carson's voice crackled with relief, "So the phenomenon is normal."

"Yesss," Steve paused, hissing. Then added, "An expulsion this quickly is a sign of satisfactory recovery."

"So it's a healthy thing?"

An irritated chuff, "That is what I said."

"Just makin' sure." There was a burst of static as someone muttered something in the background. Then… "Thank ye, Steve. I appreciate it. Beckett out."

The radio crackled off.

Voice deliberately casual, Major Sheppard caught the earpiece as it whizzed back towards his head. "Neural filaments, huh?"

Ignoring the implied inquiry, Steve dropped a second bottom feeder by the hole, (this one tailless), and rose smoothly to his feet. "I am ready to continue."

"As in… neural tissue?" wheedled Sheppard, "Brain stuff…? Grey matter?"

Olive eyes speared him, "Yesss… As I told your Carson, the expulsion is normal."

"Just checking." Signaling Bates, Sheppard got the tour moving again.

The fish extraction restarted…

Two corridors later, it stopped as quickly as it'd begun. A wall of rotting fish odor, twice as strong as any they'd encountered so far, rolled over everyone as they turned a corner. Marines gagged and lifted arms to their mouths, Zelenka and the scientists covered their noses with resigned disgust, and Sheppard…

Sheppard grimaced and choked while trying not to laugh as Steve lunged sideways and pressed his face to the nearest hole in the wall.

"I can find nothing in this!"

"I don't remember it being this bad," Zelenka apologized.

"It wasn't," Dr. Kovskii muttered, "This built up when we closed the tarps. Fifteen minutes ago, it was much worse."

"It hasn't finished dissipating yet," added Moore.

Dr. Sheckle nodded her agreement.

Sergeant Bates shot his superior a pointed glance, "Maybe we should stop, Sir."

"No!" Drawing in a deep breath of fresh air from the crack he'd found, Steve rounded on Major Sheppard accusingly, "This tour is not finished."

Amused and surprised, Sheppard studied the wraith, "But it's almost done." He glanced inquiringly at Zelenka, who nodded in confirmation.

"There're only a few rooms left. Ones we have not been in."

"And we weren't planning on stopping at any of 'em," Sheppard added.

With a warning hiss, Steve straightened while smoothing his coat, "Nevertheless…" amber glimmered on the glove's wrist as he lifted his chin, "I wish to view my deceased brethren's workplace in its entirety."

My deceased brethren? That was new. First their captive was vexed by the presence of a second, living wraith in the city. Now he claimed kinship with a long-dead one. Nose buried in his sleeve, the Major hid his curiosity carefully. Maybe it had something to do with the whole 'masked' wraith vs. 'non-masked' thing…

"What's the verdict, Sir?" Bates pressed.

Steve snorted softly, staring down his nose at Sheppard, who met the daringly expectant, olive gaze with deliberate nonchalance.

Of course, the word choice could merely be an attempt to lend weight to the wraith's argument. Not that it mattered… Sheppard wasn't about to undermine Steve's trust over THIS technicality any more than he'd been over Rodney's last night.

He lifted an eyebrow, "You're the one with 'fog' issues. Not me."

Ivory hair rippled across black shoulders as Steve gave an abbreviated nod, murmuring, "A visual examination will be sufficient."

"Good," Sheppard had no intention of sticking around in this stench longer than necessary. That included waiting for it to dissipate more.

They continued on, minus the Fish Finders who hastily excused themselves under the pretense of cataloguing and de-beading all the bottom feeders Steve had unearthed.

Again, Dr. Zelenka's brief forecast proved accurate. There wasn't much lab left. Two rooms, choked so thickly with seaweed, it was no wonder nobody had tackled them yet. (Steve peered into these with blatant disbelief.) And a 'T' intersection, which led to a room filled with chest high sand drifts, and two silt-packed dead ends.

Correction. One silt-packed dead end.

Major Sheppard paused, idly kicking a drying dune while the wraith poked his face into what Zelenka had dubbed the Sand Trap. "I take it, that leads to your giant octopus…?" His thumb jerked back up the corridor.

Following his gaze, Dr. Zelenka glanced down the other branch of the intersection, where a large window, (an actual window, not a hole), and the dim shadow of a doorway could be seen. "Uh, yes. That is the smell's source. Though I must remind you, octopus is just a theory. It could be a big fish. Or a mammal—"

"Or a giant octi-crab."

Zelenka looked uncomfortable, "Yes, uh… Or a giant octi-crab…"

"Well, I'll just take a peek," leaving the escort to catch up when Steve was satisfied, the Major returned to the 'T' and paced over to the window. The ocean's choppy waves glistened in the morning sun, spraying walls with salty mist as they crashed against Atlantis's jetties and piers…

He tapped the salt-stained glass, calling, "Why is this window fine when everything else is full of holes?"

Torn as to whether or not he should leave the escort, Zelenka answered, "It's reinforced, specially designed to withstand space travel."

Sheppard frowned, not buying it, "More so than the metal?"

"And it's non-conductive?" the Czech shrugged, "We're not sure, honestly."

That made more sense… "Anyway to open it?"

"Not that we've found, unfortunately."

Too bad… Sheppard suspected it would've helped with the smell a lot. Drawing away from the mysteriously strong portal, he poked his head into the last hall.

Laden with almost as much sand build-up as the Sand Trap, the corridor stretched for half a dozen yards or so before taking a sharp turn to the right. Signs of exploration were few. No smileys, no grids traced on the mudpack… A single, solitary line of footprints trudged alongside a natural-looking trench that cut through the silt…

"Looks like a lot of water drained from here."

"Yes, quite a bit," Zelenka was at his elbow, the security escort not far behind, "the room at the end is very large, we believe."

Sheppard glanced at the frazzle-haired scientist skeptically, "You believe?"

"Well, we cannot see it. It's very dark. Black. And the doors—"

"May I see it?" Steve hissed.

"—are stuck," Zelenka looked at the wraith in surprise. The lean, black-coated alien was breathing through his mouth, eyeing the corridor with interest. "There is nothing to see yet. We can't get in. No one has—"

"If there is nothing to see, there is no harm in my viewing it."

Zelenka waffled, "I suppose that's true…"

Major Sheppard stared at Steve suspiciously. The room was the source of the putrid stench, and he wanted to get closer to it?! How did that figure? "You DO realize this awful smell's coming from there, right?"

"Yessss…"

In denial of what he was hearing, Sheppard sniffed the air and grimaced exaggeratedly, "I'd think you of all people would want to avoid this room the most!"

No response. Olive eyes studied him in enigmatic silence.

Enigmatic, STUBBORN, silence…

The Major's eyes narrowed. "Fine!" he leveled a finger at the black-clad chest warningly, "You wanna be a masochist? Go ahead. Just don't blame me when your nostrils fall off!"

An amused chuff, "I doubt such an eventuality is likely…"

I doubt such an— Sheppard rolled his eyes in disbelief, "Whatever." He nodded at Bates, who grimaced, and then turned to Zelenka, "Let's get this over with."

He strode purposefully into the hall, boots squelching deeply in the thick mudpack. Dr. Zelenka followed more cautiously, wearing an expression of bland resignation, and the security escort trailed in after him, seven watchful faces flinching with stoically hidden disgust as the wall of stench rolled over them…

The wraith continued breathing through his mouth, olive irises darting warily to either side, as if the odor were an enemy in need of constant monitoring.

Reaching the bend, Sheppard planted his feet in the damp trench and looked round the corner. The hallway went on a good, thirty feet or so, before ending in an ancient, kelp-draped door. Sand climbed almost to the top of its weedy frame, and the gully he was in cut into the massive drift like a knife, narrowing the further in it went. A thin, vertical line of inky blackness sliced the entire obstacle in two, telling Sheppard the way was partially open. (And that water had poured from it…)

The footprints he'd been tailing in the silt stopped halfway up the dune…

"Someone had fun walking backwards," he muttered.

"That was Lieutenant Ford," Zelenka offered, "He stuck a camera in."

"Really? And ya still couldn't see anything?"

"No. As I said. Dark."

"Well. I'll just hafta bring a light then," Motioning for Sergeant Bates to wait, Sheppard went on ahead, unshouldering and switching on the lamp of his P-90. The huge dune started gathering several yards from the door. He scaled it boldly. Drying sand, broken shells, and gooey plant bits sucked at his boots, shifting and squishing under his knees and free hand as he climbed up to crouch beside the algae-smeared barrier. Avoiding the fragile-looking sand-cliffs that marked the beginning of the trench, he leaned over and peered into the space between the two halves of the stuck door.

Nothing. Dark, just like Zelenka had said.

Wait. Was that a wet glimmer on the floor?

…

His body was blocking the corridor's light…

Pulling back, Major Sheppard poked the flashlight attachment of his gun into the finger-length crack and tried again.

…

Wow. That was unhelpful.

He sat back on his haunches, grimacing. Beyond the stuck doorway was—surprise, surprise, wonder of wonders—another corridor. Which continued for ANOTHER thirty or so feet before turning sharply to the left.

And was flooded by a foot of decay ridden seawater…

…

Sheppard looked again.

Make that a foot and a half…

…

…Of liquid that ONCE was seawater…

…

Ew.

Oh, well. At least they didn't have to walk in it…

He climbed down from the drift and rejoined the security escort in the bend, eyeing Zelenka meaningfully, "It's big in there, isn't it?"

A wry shrug was the scientist's reply, "There is considerable square footage of this building's footprint unaccounted for, yes."

Peering over Sergeant Bates, Steve cocked his ivory head, "What did you see, Major?"

Sheppard was deliberately vague, "A whole lot of nothing. Stinky, unenlightening, nothing." The wraith chuffed suspiciously. "But don't take MY word for it," he added. (The part of Sheppard that Weir regularly labeled childish REALLY wanted to see Steve's face when he got a whiff of that water.) "Go see for yourself."

Eyes not leaving his captor's, Steve inclined his face slightly, "Very well…"

Scooting aside, the Major pulled Zelenka over and signaled the escort. With sand-hindered efficiency, the marines advanced a few paces and split their perimeter open, ejecting the prisoner into the silt-choked corridor to roam freely.

The wraith hesitated a moment, as if having second thoughts… Then he stalked slowly into the corridor. Black leather swished and scraped across the sand, trailing shallow furrows in his wake. Halfway to the door, he paused.

Sheppard frowned as Steve glanced back. A look of startled confusion had flickered briefly on the pale face… Or was it nauseous indigestion?

Course, it could've been wishful thinking on Sheppard's part…

No wait. Was it possible the wraith was sensitive enough to actually find the powerful odor physically disorienting…? THAT was worth exploring.

Beside his pensive superior, Bates studied the deep drift beyond the wraith dubiously, "Want us to follow, Sir? He's out of easy retrieval range."

"Nah, let him have some space. It's basically a dead-end."

Still stopped in the middle of the corridor, Steve wrapped his arms over his stomach and straightened, lifting his chin in a meditation pose. Olive eyes slipping closed, he held perfectly still for a few seconds.

"What's he doing?" Zelenka whispered.

Used to the captive's unpredictable freeze episodes by now, (though a bit resentful of the timing of this one), Sheppard grunted absently, "No idea."

Ivory strands slid down Steve's chest as he lowered his face, exhaling an eerily pervasive hiss. The noise permeated the corridor, resonating in the stifling atmosphere until it seemed impossible for his lungs to have any breath left.

As the spine-tingling sound finally faded, Steve lifted his face to the ceiling once more. Eyes still shut, he stood, frozen, for a single, drawn-out, suspense-filled instant…

Then he closed his mouth.

Naaawww… He wasn't gonna—Yes, he was!

Major Sheppard stared in disbelief as the prisoner inhaled deeply through his nose, sampling the fetid aroma for the first time since the Fish Finders left. It seemed his masochist comment earlier hadn't been too far off the mark.

"That, I was not expecting," Zelenka muttered.

"Me neither…"

They watched as Steve shuddered and winced and held the breath, faceted shoulders visibly tensing.

"You okay, Steve?" tested Sheppard.

No response…

The marines exchanged glances…

Just when the Major was wondering whether the wraith was gonna pass out from lack of oxygen, the taut posture relaxed and Steve began expelling a rapid series of explosive, sinus-cleansing chuffs. He dropped his head until the spasms passed. Then shook himself. Olive eyes fluttered open, flicking about in unfocused confusion.

Not JUST confusion... Confusion mixed with—

Experiencing a twinge of uneasiness, Sheppard attempted to read the unguarded, kaleidoscopic expression. Was it bewilderment? Astonishment? Consternation?

…All of the above?…

Whatever it was, he doubted it was good.

"What'd you smell, Steve?"

The mock-warning note brought the wraith back to reality. Steve glanced disdainfully at his captors and gave a final chuff, enigmatic masked snapping back into place as if it'd never left. "What do YOU smell, Major Sheppard?"

Sheppard's eyes narrowed, "I asked first."

"So you did…" a low hiss.

Silence stretched…

Resisting the urge to glare angrily, Major Sheppard relented. The stench issuing from the stuck doors was severely dampening his tolerance for wraith power games.

"I smell rot," he announced coldly.

Mimicking his tone, Steve spun away with another hiss, "As do I, Major Sheppard." Coat panels flapping and rustling, he strode purposefully for the dune.

Watching the wraith climb the steep drift with a single elegant, graceful leap, Zelenka glanced at Sheppard, perplexed, "What was that about?"

"Damned if I know—Hey! Easy on the weeds!"

Ignoring the reprimand, Steve dropped the seaweed he'd ripped from the left side of the doorframe and dug his ungloved hand into the silt piled against it, scooping several handfuls off the drift. The hard angles of a crystal control box peeked from beneath his pale fingers as they brushed sand off the newly exposed metal with interest.

"We didn't bring you down here to excavate the place!"

"Were you aware this door has extra security features, Dr. Zelenka?"

Zelenka glanced apologetically at Sheppard before nodding, "Yes. The width of the casing's top suggested an extra crystal slot."

The wraith's hands were running across the door now, "Yet you choose to remain ignorant of what lies beyond…"

Looking flustered, the Czech hastily tried to explain, "The smell is not the only reason we haven't—"

"What other reason is there?" Steve's cheeks joined his hands, performing deft passes over the algae-smeared metal. He paused with his orifices over the crack.

"Uh… A very good reason, actually."

With an ambiguous chuff, the wraith peered into the narrow opening. Then he inserted his fingers into the thin space.

Sheppard wondered if he could make out the water in the dim light…

"Sir…" Sergeant Bates glanced at his superior warningly.

"Yeah, I see it." Steve was methodically testing the doors. "They're jammed pretty good. I doubt we need to worry abou—"

SCREEEEEEEECHHH—UUUUUNNNK!!!

The wraith leaned out over the flooded corridor.

"You were saying, Sir?"

Crap. No more dead-end. Lunging forward, Major Sheppard pushed through the security escort and slogged back into the deepening sand, "That's enough, Steve—"

SPLASH!

Double crap!! "Dammit!! STAY where you are!"

Scrambling after the Major, Zelenka blinked in astonishment as the wraith's lithe form vanished behind the tall drift, "Oh, my."

Stunners up, the escort rushed down the hall and up the massive mudpack, slipping and stumbling in the unstable footing. They clattered to a sand-scattering halt behind Sheppard and thrust their weapons into the corridor, angling them past Dr. Zelenka's startled shoulders. The Czech gaped at the silvery swarm of too-close, organic muzzles in disbelief as Sheppard's fist shot up in a 'hold' sign.

"Everyone, let's stay calm."

Ignoring Sergeant Bates's trademark, 'I warned you this might happen,' stare, Sheppard swung his P-90's light into the shadows, seeking out the wraith.

Ah, there he was… "Whatcha doin', Steve?"

No answer. Feigning obliviousness to the chaos his casual feat of super-human strength and sudden disappearance had caused, Steve crouched calmly in the hall…

Not standing in the hall. Crouching! In that fetid water!

Sheppard resisted the urge to gag at the thought.

"THAT…" grimaced Zelenka, "is the REAL reason we haven't gone in yet…"

Still showing no sign that he'd noticed his captors, the wraith leaned down and dipped his ungloved fingers into the foul liquid. The P-90's white glare glistened on ripples as he swirled them in a wide arc and brought them, dripping, to his face.

Surveying the recently exposed mess from atop the sand barrier, Dr. Zelenka sighed, "I suppose I should call pump team down… Get them to start draining—"

"No!" Rising smoothly to his feet, Steve spun to face him, thumb and forefinger poised by the orifice of his left cheek, "This liquid is rich in the nutrients required to sustain the hard-drive. It should be harvested." His olive eyes flicked to Major Sheppard, "Your Carson said you have limited resources…"

"Not that limited," Suspecting an attempt to gain leverage, Sheppard lifted a mocking eyebrow, "Let me guess. You know just how to harvest it."

Instead of the expected, smugly hissed, "Yesss," the wraith exhaled an absent chuff and went back to examining the liquid on his fingers, "My aide is not required for such a task…" Confusion, like Sheppard had noticed earlier, flitted across his features before slowly morphing into something unreadable.

Raining glistening droplets onto the stagnant, putrid water, Steve abruptly dropped his hand to his side and snapped his focus to the dark corridor.

Balanced on the edge of the drift, Major Sheppard tensed, not liking the determined spark that'd flashed in Steve's eyes. "Okay, fun's over—"

Splashes echoed hollowly in the enclosed space as Steve began striding purposefully towards the next bend in the hall.

Triple crap! Sheppard should've seen that coming. Eyeing the flooded floor with disgust, he quickly weighed options. Follow the wraith and manhandle him out, everyone gets wet. Stun the wraith and drag his unconscious carcass out, everyone STILL gets wet. Dammit! In denial of the disgusting inevitable, he stared after the retreating, leather-trailing back and desperately tried a generic, never-works, sure-to-fail option three, "Hey! Where do you think YOU'RE going?!"

Ivory swayed as the wraith expelled a sharp snort, "Forward, Major. Where else?"

"Get back here!"

A smug hiss, "I think not…"

Well, it was worth a try. Grimacing, Sheppard peered down the chest-high drop-off, deciding on the best way down. "Aww… This is gonna suck."

"Want us to stun him, Sir?" Bates had no qualms about dragging Steve out.

The Major looked at him seriously, "You wanna explain to Carson how our wraith got seaweed and rotting fish fins in his lungs?"

The Security Chief frowned, "Not particularly, Sir."

"Well, neither do I," Sheppard grabbed the doorframe and crouched. Best to take the plunge in one fell swoop and get it over with, "Besides, Steve's damn heavy." He dropped onto the flooded floor with a loud SPLOOSSHH! Cold closed around his knees, quickly soaking through his pants and into his boots.

Having reached the next bend, Steve looked back at the noise.

Infusing his voice with firmness and command, Sheppard caught the wraith's eye and jogged towards him, barking, "WAIT RIGHT THERE!"

Pausing for a single, magical instant as if he might actually be considering obeying the order, Steve tilted his face to one side and drew his lips back in a pleasure-filled smile. His hiss whispered mockingly through the darkness. "Nooo…"

"Excuse me?!" Sheppard poured on the speed, forcing back the urge to gag as unidentifiable blobs brushed and bobbed against his shins. Shells crunched underfoot. Water-saturated silt sucked at his soles, sliding him off balance one moment, then refusing to release him the next. Steve's white hair fluttered in the darkness, and vanished round the bend, and a chorus of splashes told Sheppard that the security escort was joining the pursuit. And that the wraith was speeding up…

Aw, Hell… Wraith were fast. Damn fast. If there wasn't a real dead-end up ahead, they could be in serious trouble.

"STEVE! When I get ahold of you, it's not gonna be pretty!" Sheppard rounded the corner only to see a black, putridly rippling trail of liquid nothingness. "If you don't stop THIS INSTANT, you can KISS your hard won privileges goodbye!"

The splashing up ahead miraculously stopped.

Sheppard barreled onward. The liquid nothingness opened out, spilling from the corridor into an equally black, equally putrid, but incredibly massive-feeling space that managed to give the contradictory impression of being both extremely full and eerily empty. He floundered for several disorienting seconds, flashing his P-90's light about to find the wraith, only to discover him standing in a pool of ripples, a few yards off to one side of the room's entrance. Sheppard had overshot him.

Backtracking, he pulled out his pistol stunner and trained it on the prisoner irritably, "Steve? What the HELL was that?"

Oval-pupils, reflecting the light of his P-90, glanced his way before sweeping over his head. Chuffing softly, Steve resumed his intent study of the dark room.

Not amused, Sheppard stalked closer, "I asked you a questio—"

"I told you, I smelled rot, Major Sheppard." Ignoring the weapon pointed at his chest, Steve stared into the light-swallowing shadows with an expression of mild bafflement, "The rot in this room smells…" His multi-tonal voice slowed. Olive eyes fixed on Sheppard's blue orbs meaningfully, "Different…" Ivory swayed as Steve nodded once and earnestly added, "From everywhere else…"

Oh, really? Rot that was different from all the other rot. "Different how?"

Blinking, the wraith swung his pale face away and stared into the darkness once more. Feeling distinctly irked, Sheppard cast his P-90's light about, taking in the scenery while Sergeant Bates and the security escort belatedly piled in behind him.

His eyes widened as he realized what he was seeing. Pivoting in place, he played the beam slowly across the far corners of the room.

Sheppard gave a low whistle, "That ain't no octopus…"

* * *

Thank you for reading! Please review! Again, things I'm working on specifically are: 1. Maintaining a Season 1 feel in the flashback chapters. 2. Keeping the regulars in character.

As we're getting further into the plot, I'll now add a three to this list.

3. Making the new and different, (and/or bizarre), things that happen seem realistic and believable.


	17. Chapter 16: Excursion Part 4

Okay, so... After another ridiculously long wait...

(I have an excuses list, if anyone's interested. *starts ticking points off* The lightning Thief came out, so I had to read those books. Then I figured, why not make a bigger dent in my To-Read pile while I'm at it. Then I got sick. Then I procrastinated. Then I... Oh, wait. Here's one some of you guys might actually be interested in. We started playing a Magic the Gathering role-playing game using the 7th Seas mechanics, and the Game Master foolishly asked us to write backgrounds for our characters... I got inspired, and **!SHAMELESS PLUG!** posted the first chapter of a story called Mirror Storm: A Planeswalker Tale.)

Anyway, back to the Pegasus Tango.

This chapter is, I think, actually longer than the last one. Which is silly, 'cause it was supposed to be shorter. ;)

As per a suggestion, I have added characters to this story's search profile. I went with Steve and Sheppard. (Steve wasn't on the list when I first published it.)

And speaking of first publishing... Wow. I've been working on this for over a year now. It doesn't feel that long. Thank you so much, everyone, for sticking with it. Every review I get inspires me to keep going. I don't always reply in a timely fashion, (or ever, sometimes-sorry if that happened to someone), but I read each and every one multiple times. I'd like to send special thanks to SGA-Seven and Hagfish-plushie for supporting 'The Pegasus Tango' from the beginning. And I'd also like to thank tellie and wildmage_of_galla for their recent, Super-Long reviews! (As wildmage_of_galla noted, I DO accept anonymous reviews now.)

And so, without further ado, I present for your reading pleasure...

(Drum roll please...........) du du du Dummmm...!

The BEAST IN SEQUEL!

Happy reading!

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.

**Chapter Sixteen: Excursion – Part Four**

_**3 years, 47 and ½ weeks earlier**_

The news of what Major Sheppard and the wraith had discovered hit the infirmary like the deathly calm before a hurricane…

"You found what?"

"You heard me."

"No, I'm pretty sure I didn't." Dr. McKay stared at the air before him, clutching his data pad in a pose of profound disbelief, "'Cause I coulda sworn you just said you foun—" frowning, he shifted his weight and blurted, "Where are you again?"

"A flooded room. Beyond a formerly stuck doorway."

Confusion joined the disbelief, "You're in Paloski's octopus room?"

"I TOLD you. It's not an octopu—"

"No, you said—How did you GET in there anyway!?"

Major Sheppard's sigh was clearly audible. "Like I said. Steve pried it open."

"And you LET him?" McKay squeaked.

Irritation crackled in Sheppard's voice, "I wasn't exactly close enough to STOP him—"

"That's what stunners are for!"

Down in the lab, Sheppard stared at their gooey discovery with exasperation, "Opening a door isn't exactly a stunning offense, Rodney."

"It is when I specifically forbid Zelenka from letting anyone past it yet!"

"Well, maybe you shoulda thought about including that order in your repo—"

Huffing disbelievingly, Dr. McKay cut the Major's annoyed reply off, "Okay, so it was more of a guideline. You didn't have to go IN after he'd opened it!"

"Actually, I did—"

A derisive scoff, "Oh, really?" McKay tapped his foot, stiffening in an accusing, 'I dare you,' pose. "Why?"

Keenly aware that the wraith was angling his sensitive ears his way, Sheppard bristled, "Look. I don't have to explain myself to you! We're here. You're not—"

"Oh, sure! Rub my nose in it, why doncha?!"

"—Do you wanna hear what we found, or would ya prefer to wait 'til the debriefing?"

Rodney snapped his mouth shut.

Sheppard waited a few seconds. Then… "Good. Now, as I was saying, there's a whole, dead—"

"Are you SURE you identified it correctly?"

"—up against the north wall, an—" Sheppard's disembodied voice crackled to an irritated stop as he rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure, Rodn—"

"But are you SURE sure?"

"Pretty darn sure." Muted splashing came over the radio as Major Sheppard began moving closer to their find. "It's not like I've never SEEN one before."

"Well, why would one of THOSE be down there?!"

Sarcasm dripped from the earpiece, "Gee! I don't know, McKay. Why do YOU think?"

"It was a rhetorical question!" Dr. McKay growled. Catching Dr. Weir's disapproving glance, he hugged his data pad tighter and tried to think positively. Brightening, his mouth twitched in a hopeful half-grin. "So, do you think it'll fly?"

Sheppard rolled his eyes again, "I told you. It's dead."

"Well, maybe it just looks dead?" Hope springs eternal, right?

A wry laugh came from McKay's radio. "There's 'looks dead,' and there's 'LOOKS dead,' Rodney." The beam of light from Sheppard's P-90's played across the north wall once more. "This definitely LOOKS dead."

McKay fidgeted, stalling in denial, "In what way?"

Miles away from his interrogator, Major Sheppard waded to a stop in the stagnant, black water and ran a hesitantly disgusted palm across the organic space ship's rotting engine casing. The outer layer of liquefying chitin sloughed at his touch, slithering down and plopping off in an erratic cascade of rubbery lumps. He grimaced, wiping his soiled hand on his pants, "Let's just say it strongly resembles its owner…"

"It looks like Elizabeth?"

"NO!!" Sheppard turned his back on the dart in annoyance, "Stop playing dumb, McKay! It's not gonna change things."

"Fine," Rodney huffed, "It's a gooey, rotting skeleton."

"Exactly." Pursing his lips, the Major surveyed the rest of the room, watching with approval as Private Sheere began setting up a trio of Dr. Zelenka's recently delivered, high-wattage, waterproof lamps. A few yards away, Steve paced slowly within the escort's security perimeter, waiting for permission to investigate the hangar's decomposing contents with watchfully alert, yet passively narrowed eyes.

Fidgeting in the infirmary, Dr. McKay ignored the trio of questioning looks coming from Dr. Beckett's workbench and shuffled his feet, "So, what else is in there?"

"Lots of stuff…" Sheppard swept his gaze up to the ceiling as the first lamp switched on. "There's equipment climbing all over the east and south walls. Sorta falling down a bit… Beneath that, there're a couple computer consoles—"

"Like the ones on M1X-347?"

"Yeah, like those. Only gooey. One's a bit bigger, though."

Rodney frowned, "How much bigger?"

Sheppard squinted across the room, estimating. "A few feet wider. Maybe a yard—"

"Okay, okay." McKay waved the detail off, "What else?"

"More equipment-type stuff. Sorta snakes around the base of the walls."

"All the walls?"

"I'd say about three quarters. Nothing where we came in—"

"What does it look like?"

The Major shrugged, "I don't know. Stuff."

Dr. McKay sighed heavily in exasperation, "What KIND of stuff!"

"WRAITH stuff."

"I KNOW that! Duh! What KIND of Wraith stuff?"

Bristling at the rude tone, Sheppard snapped, "SKELETAL Wraith stuff!" He glared daggers at a dead, eel-like thing floating past his knees.

"Oh, that is SO helpful," McKay scoffed.

"Look, Mr. Smarty Pants. Even if it WASN'T rotten, I wouldn't be able to identify this stuff. I've never seen half of it before!"

"Then ask Steve! That's why he's ther—"

"We haven't GOTTEN that far yet."

Knuckles whitening against his data pad, Dr. McKay stiffened rigidly in frustration and blurted, "Well, hurry up!"

Major Sheppard turned back to the dart, giving the defunct vessel a borderline sadistic grin, "Okay. I will. Talk to ya in a few, McKay—"

"What?!"

"—I'm just gonna help Sheere finish setting Zelenka's lights up. Then I'll get right on that for ya—"

"WAIT! SHEPPARD!!"

"—Sheppard out." Sheppard tapped his earpiece off.

In the infirmary, Dr. McKay squeaked in horror and smacked his mike repeatedly, trying to reestablish contact. "McKay to Sheppard! Come in! Come in!!"

To no avail. The tiny speaker stayed stubbornly silent…

Finally realizing it was futile, he dropped his hand in wounded disbelief and turned to Weir, saying in a stunned voice, "That Bastard turned his radio off…"

Atlantis's expedition leader raised an amused eyebrow…

* * *

**Meanwhile…**

With a self-satisfied smirk, Major Sheppard tucked his radio back into his vest pocket and Velcro-ed the flap shut, then spun to face his security team. His inappropriately gleeful handclap echoed through the newly-found hangar.

"All right, people! Let's see what we've got!"

As if on cue, Private Sheere switched the other two lamps on. White light blazed to life, flooding the chitineous structures with a harsh deluge of scalding luminescence.

Sheppard rocked back on his heels and craned his neck, following the stripped bones and dangling, fleshy garlands up into the shadowed heights of the ceiling… Despite the powerful bulbs, he couldn't make out much. Gaze still lifted, he waded over to Sergeant Bates and the escort. Steve stopped pacing as he approached.

"Well…" he announced, "I THINK I can see the roof."

"I'm guessing four, maybe five stories, Sir," Sergeant Bates offered.

That sounded right. "This is a BIG room. Lots of space."

"Lots of space for lots of equipment, Sir—"

A low hiss interrupted the semi-idle exchange. "Major Sheppard…"

Deliberately drawing out his study of the obscured ceiling, Sheppard pursed his lips before meeting the waiting stare. "Ya got something to add, Steve?"

Olive irises vanishing briefly in a slow blink, Steve chuffed softly, "I wish to reiterate your Dr. McKay's desire for haste."

Really? Sheppard raised a mocking eyebrow, "Curiosity getting to ya?"

"Nooo…" another hiss. The wraith's lips pulled further away from his translucent teeth, exaggerating his intake of breath. "I find this atmosphere stifling."

Back to the smell again. The Major understood the complaint. The pervasive stench was nauseating. However, seeing as it was the WRAITH's fault they were currently surrounded by it, he was finding it a bit hard to empathize at the moment. "Perhaps you shoulda thought of that BEFORE jumping into it."

No response. The formerly-relaxed posture tensed.

Sheppard wondered suddenly whether refusing to acknowledge mistakes was a wraith thing or a scientist thing. Given a certain teammate, he was tempted to lean towards scientist… The wraith lifted his chin with a haughty, enigmatic blink, and Sheppard frowned internally. Nah, it was probably just an ego thing… Not that it mattered, really. "Okay. Here's how this goes." He experienced a flash of gratification as Steve obediently cocked his head, listening intently. "I point. You talk. When I'm done pointing, we get the Hell outta Dodge and take a nice, long, hot shower."

Ripples lapped at the wraith's knees and long coat as he froze, considering the one-sided proposal. His olive eyes swept across the equipment. Appraising… Finally he inclined his face slightly, "This arrangement, as I understand it, is acceptable."

Interesting wording… "And how DO you understand it?"

Steve's oval-pupiled eyes widened challengingly at the suspicious tone, "That 'Get the Hell outta Dodge' is equivalent to 'Leave.'"

Surprised, (and a little weirded out), by the creepily accurate mimicking of the slang phrase, Major Sheppard chuckled, "You get a hang of figures of speech fast, I'll give you that." Motioning for the security escort to follow, he waded back towards where they'd come in. Eyeing Steve over his shoulder, he flippantly added, "For the record, it's also equivalent to 'Vamoose,' 'High Tail It,' and 'Skedaddle.'"

A disgusted snort, "Irrelevant information…"

Sheppard shrugged nonchalantly and veered left, heading for the suspected computer skeletons, "Not necessarily."

"I have never heard those terms before."

"Yeah, well. You'd never heard of 'Pressing Your Luck,' either…"

A rattling hiss emanated from the circle of marines, and Steve narrowed his eyes and glanced away, focus shifting to the rotting consoles. "Where do you wish to start?"

Reaching the first gooey terminal, Major Sheppard studied it a moment, wondering at the wraith's quick cooperation. Either he thought they wouldn't find anything useful, or he didn't care if they did because whatever they found would be connected to the glove… Both possibilities suggested lies were unlikely. However, there was always the chance there was something in here he WOULD feel compelled to lie about. If that were the case, would Sheppard be able to tell…?

Best to deal with that when, or if, it happened. "How 'bout this one."

"A computer," Steve's swift reply contained an unmistakable note of derision, which reminded Major Sheppard uncomfortably of Dr. McKay.

He glared at the wraith. "I'm not THAT ignorant, Einstein. What KIND of computer?"

A sharp, amusement-laced, hiss. "A dead one."

Why did Sheppard feel like he'd had this conversation already? "I can SEE that," he snapped, gesturing at the liquefying console, "What KIND of dead computer? Any special purpose? Design clues." His fingers waggled mysteriously over the rotting structure. "Weird… Lumps that aren't usually there…"

Wrapping his forearms over his stomach, Steve caught Sheppard's eye and flashed his teeth in a meaningful smile. His gaze darted pointedly to Sergeant Bates. Then back. "Not that I can see from over here, Major Sheppard."

Right… The wraith was still several yards away. And surrounded…

Sheppard stepped back a pace and motioned for the security escort to open their perimeter, "Well, I guess you'll just have to come closer, then."

Steve stalked slowly to the console, watching impassively as his guards transformed their mobile ring into an agile semi-circle. With a dismissive snort, he flicked his gaze to his target. "I see nothing obviousss…" He circled the skeletal remains. Then moved nearer. Bloated chitin oozed as he circled again, this time dragging his ungloved fingers across it. Muted scraping and powerful ripples told Sheppard the wraith was tracing the shape of the console's base with his boots.

Exhaling an absent chuff, Steve stopped at the terminal's front. "There are no unusual external variations…" Wet squelching filled the air as he reached into a gaping hole that marred the hollowing shell and began performing an INternal examination.

Sheppard grimaced as the wraith's probing hand sank into the putrefying computer innards. His ability to stomach touching the stuff was a mystery.

The leather-clad elbow submerged. More squelching…

Finally Steve straightened. Bits of rot fell from the hard edges of his sleeve's bracer as he shook his forearm clean. "The internal structures are decayed beyond recognition. Any variations that may have existed are gone."

Darn. Nothing to suggest it wasn't a regular computer, then. "I suppose that means it isn't salvageable," Sheppard mused.

Olive eyes flicking to his captor, Steve eyed the Major with his increasingly familiar 'you're an idiot' look. "That assumption is correct."

Was that a note of impatience? "Are ya sure?"

"Yesss…"

Definitely impatience! In retribution for the 'you're an idiot' look, Sheppard decided to play difficult, "But are ya SURE sure?"

The wraith stared, visibly annoyed now…

Sheppard raised a flippant eyebrow.

Abruptly releasing an irritated hiss, Steve spun back to the console, pulled his hair back with his feeding hand, and ran his cheeks over the waterlogged chitin. Then he swung towards Sheppard again, face lifting defiantly. "There is no living tissue remaining in this terminal," he snapped, "It cannot be revived."

Surprised by the display of compliance, the Major grinned mock-approvingly, "Well, if you're THAT sure, I suppose I'll hafta take your word for it."

A pervasive hiss, emphasized by an eerie rattling sound, permeated the air around the wraith as he glared frosty daggers at Atlantis's military leader.

Ooo. Someone was getting testy 'cause of the smell. Resisting a chuckle, Sheppard sobered warningly. "Gotta watch that temper, Steve."

Halting the subtle swaying he'd begun, Steve froze as the security escort's stunners shifted in reminder. The rattling ceased…

"That's better," Sheppard murmured. He made note of the odd behavior.

The hiss faded. Steve took a deep, open-mouthed breath and looked away. His faceted shoulders glittered, lifting and falling with a series of calming exhalations… Then, without warning, he started wading to the next console.

Deciding against antagonizing the prisoner further, Major Sheppard opted not to reprimand him for the assumed liberty, and gave Bates, (who was eyeing his charge critically), an 'it's okay' nod. "Guess we're continuing."

Sergeant Bates nodded, "Yes, Sir…"

Keeping ahead of the silent alien, the Major studied the new skeletal structure. Aside from hole placement and decay coloration, it looked the same as the first. "So," he began conversationally, "what can ya tell me 'bout this one?"

A soft, multi-tonal chuff, "Another computer…"

Déja vue all over again. Sheppard gave the wraith a warning glance.

No response. Exuding a sullen air, Steve dutifully circled the new target, efficiently performing the same examinations. "It is the same as the first," he reported finally, avoiding eye contact, "No anomalies. No living tissue."

"Nothing useful, then."

The wraith shook his hand clean with an absently muttered, "No."

Moving along to the next organic remains, Major Sheppard gave the more promising carcass a squishy tap of hope. "How 'bout this big one?"

Steve's sullen attitude vanished as the marines stretched their perimeter to encompass the extra-wide console. "Interesting…" He studied the rotting structure a moment. Then he traced its large base a few times, starting and stopping in erratic spurts that sent his leather coat splashing and clinging to his knees. Satisfied hisses filled the air. Then his ungloved fingers plunged into five carefully chosen parts of the liquefying interior. Five distinctly disappointed, (and probably decay-induced), snorts followed.

Keeping well out of the way, Major Sheppard leaned over and watched the wraith's slender hand probe a sixth spot through one of the decay-corroded holes in the sea-ravaged casing. "Learning anything, Steve?"

"Yesss… I beli—" A sixth disappointed snort. The goo-coated forearm withdrew with a loud Slourp! followed by a hiss of displeasure.

"Care to elaborate on that?" Sheppard pressed wryly.

"I believe your Dr. Zelenka will wish to hear my assessment of this terminal."

"Zelenka?" Sheppard looked around. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen Dr. Zelenka since he deposited the lights on the sand-cliff by the formerly-stuck doors…

"He will be here soon," the wraith chuffed, "I hear him in the outer corridor."

A muffled splash emanated from the room's entrance.

Right on cue… The Major eyed Steve surreptitiously as a muffled string of Czech preceded their guide's return. Just how good WERE the wraith's ears?

"I am back!" Zelenka sounded winded, "Did I miss anything?"

"Not yet. Steve was just abo—" Sheppard's thoughts on the acuteness of wraith hearing vanished as he caught sight of the physicist. He stared.

Several members of the marine escort stared too.

Safe from the icy touch of the fetid, rot-infused water, Zelenka's legs were encased in a thigh-high pair of pea-green, waterproof, rubber boots.

Unimpressed, Steve cocked his head with a curious chuff and began running his cheeks past the more intact sections of the over-sized computer's shell.

Emerging from the doorway, Dr. Zelenka paused to take in his surroundings. He noted the skeletal dart with a startled, "Oh. You were right. That is not octopus…"

"No, it's not," Sheppard called.

Zelenka tore his eyes from the decaying ship and followed the Major's voice. Spotting the escort, he waded over to them. Jealous gazes scrutinized his approach. He slowed as he noticed the attention. "Why is everybody looking at me?

Major Sheppard kept his voice deliberately neutral. "Nice boots."

Zelenka fidgeted uncomfortably. "Uh, yes. They are…"

"Where'd ya get 'em?"

"I borrowed them from Biology department?" Realizing the reason for the envious stares directed his way, the physicist hurried to explain, "They have a few more. I can get them, have them sent down. But everyone was wet already. I figured—"

Sheppard cut the apologetic babbling off with a regretful grin. "No worries, Radek. It's too late for us to use 'em anyway." He jerked his head towards the console, "Take a look. Steve was just about to tell us what this is." He frowned. Then corrected himself with a disgusted grimace, "What it WAS…"

"Really?" Nervousness forgotten, Dr. Zelenka moved to the end of the marine's semi-circle and watched the wraith's continuing examination with interest.

When Steve showed no sign of stopping his cheek-sweeps, Sheppard cleared his throat. "Well, Steve. Zelenka's here now. Ready to tell us what ya got?"

A low hiss issued from the intent alien, "Yesss…"

Silence stretched…

Major Sheppard cleared his throat again, "So, in the interest of hurrying—WHICH I know you want to do—What was it?"

Pushing his ivory hair back, Steve finally straightened. "A more powerful computer. Probably designed for running complex simulations—"

"All dead?" Sheppard interrupted.

"Yesss. No living tissue." With a dismissive chuff, Steve's olive eyes narrowed and slid to Dr. Zelenka. "It possesses several network branches, which were likely connected to subsidiary terminals." He flicked his gaze to the two smaller computer shells he'd examined, and three others they hadn't gotten to yet. "They would've been used for writing programs and generating variables for the primary terminal. And possibly… for analyzing data from minor experiments…"

Fascinated, Dr. Zelenka rubbed his chin, "So, the other wraith may have designed the glove here?"

Steve refocused on him with a short nod, "Its organic components. Yesss…"

"And those components' compatibility with the Ancients' technology?"

Hissing softly, Steve glanced away with a slow blink, "Possibly… With their memory and processing capabilities destroyed, it is impossible to know."

Zelenka grimaced ruefully, "Yes, of course. You are speculating."

"Let's not forget, we've got fifty other ANCIENT rooms where stuff was being done," Sheppard pointed out. "I'm guessing they were probably involved in that."

The physicist chuckled sheepishly, "Fifty is an exaggeration, but—"

A sharp chuff cut him. "As you said, this is speculation," Steve was staring at the next subsidiary terminal, "As such, it can be indulged anywhere—"

"And by 'anywhere,' you mean someplace that smells better," Sheppard guessed.

The wraith ignored the comment. "—And it will be more productive if we possess all the information currently available to us."

"In other words," Sheppard caught Zelenka's eye, "he wants to keep going."

An annoyed chuff echoed through the huge room.

Zelenka lifted his hands agreeably, "By all means. Let us continue. I wish to know more too." He lowered his voice, murmuring, "And get away from fish smell…"

Steve stalked through the fetid water, and the sidetracked lab tour continued. The other small computers were rotted through, like the first two. Steve circled them impatiently, following token internal examinations with cursory passes of his cheeks. After the third, he straightened with a displeased hiss, "These will yield nothing."

"What about that stuff, up there?" Major Sheppard was eyeing the soaring walls. There were patterns in the decay clinging to the ancient metal. Orderly lines and unnatural right angles. Rectangles and regularly shaped, geometric deposits of rot-infused chitin. Despite the tattered, seaweed-tangled appearance, there was a definite method to the moldering, algae-slicked chaos that loomed over them…

The wraith's ivory hair swayed across the black leather of his coat as he swung his face up and swept a penetrating stare across the massive expanse of decomposing bio-clutter. "Support infrastructure," Steve hissed. Snorting dismissively, he shot Sheppard a disinterested glance and began splashing towards a cluster of irregularly shaped pedestals. "Nutrient distribution and recycling systems for powering this equipment. And for regulating its health…" Beads glimmered on his wrist as Steve regarded the wall once more and sent his feeding hand arcing towards the far corner of the room in a casually elegant wave. "I see evidence of incubation support as well."

"Incubation?" Major Sheppard eyed the distant decay skeptically. It didn't look any different from the rest of the mess. "Ya mean for growing things?"

"Yesss…" A note of disdain entered the multi-tonal voice. "These devices did not spontaneously spring into existence, Major."

Touchy… "I never said they did."

Trailing behind the security escort, Dr. Zelenka frowned curiously, "But they could have been transported…?"

A short, negative chuff, "Some, perhapsss. But not all. The majority appears to have been grown specifically to fit this room…"

Zelenka stopped and idly scratched at his thinning hair, eyes snapping thoughtfully to the hulking shape of the skeletal dart. "So, that ship's dematerializer…"

Steve angled his face towards the physicist approvingly, "Was likely used to bring vital equipment here. Equipment capable of producing everything else."

Interesting. Sheppard studied the wraith seriously. "And how likely," he inquired, "is that 'vital equipment' to still be around?"

Steve's olive eyes slid to him, "If it was returned to storage after its use…?" Oval pupils flicked to the ruined dart meaningfully, "Then it is gone. Irretrievably."

"And if not?" Sheppard pressed.

Hissing softly, Steve looked past him dismissively. "I will know it if I see it."

"Really? Ya sound pretty sure of that."

An equally dismissive chuff, "It will be unmistakable."

Cocky today, aren't we? Major Sheppard resisted the urge to laugh at their prisoner's self-assurance. True, he was in his element with the whole organic technology thing, but he was working with corpses here. Unless he was a forensic scientist, (which Sheppard highly doubted), it was practically a given he'd be baffled soon.

Mirroring the arrogant posture, the Major turned to the pockmarked chitin pedestal they'd just reached. "Oh. Well. In that case, let's play 'Point and Tell' again."

He pointed to the gooey, rot-smeared thing.

Steve snorted and waded over to it, "Some sort of analyzer." Running his ungloved hand over the algae-coated, octagonal surface, he tested the shell. His fingers slipped easily through the weakened sides of the bowl-shaped cavity set in its top. Pale lips twitching in a quickly hidden grimace, he withdrew with a wet squelch. "It is rotten, as well," Steve hissed. Leaning down, he swept his cheeks past the carcass, as usual, taking great care to keep his hair from touching it. "No life…"

"What sort of analyzer?" Dr. Zelenka asked, having just caught up.

An absent hiss stirred the air as Steve studied the blackened lumps and oval dips framing the bowl's rim. "I cannot be certain. Its controls are decayed beyond recognition, and the formation is unfamiliar to me…" His olive eyes narrowed thoughtfully, "Given its origins, it may be a custom design."

Sheppard felt a flash of smugness at the timely appearance of his predicted bafflement. "So you don't know, exactly."

"No…" The wraith gave no sign of being discomfited by the admission.

"Surely you have a guess?"

At the flip tone, Steve stiffened. His oval pupils snapped to the Major suspiciously. "If you desire such an assessment, I can provide one."

Not expecting the sudden wariness, Sheppard feigned innocence, "Provide away."

Steve studied him a moment, eyes darting up and down the carefully non-threatening posture while his brow furrowed delicately in confusion. Finally his gaze returned to the controls. "It is a molecular analyzer of some sort."

"A molecular analyzer," Sheppard murmured. That didn't sound like it'd narrowed things down much. "Is that the best ya can do?"

"With any reasonable degree of certainty, yesss…"

The Major glanced at Zelenka with a smirk, "Yeah, well. Half the point of guessing is to stretch BEYOND a reasonable degree of certainty."

A guarded blink… "You will not hold me responsible for faulty assumptions made based on my," Steve chuffed distastefully, "'guess'… should it prove inaccurate?"

Wide-eyed, Dr. Zelenka shook his head, "No, of course not."

Sheppard hid a frown, "That's why it's called a guess."

Steve's face angled towards his captor slightly, but his focus remained fastened on the controls. "And your Queen will be made aware of this assurance?"

Again with the whole 'Queen' thing. "I told you. Dr. Weir's not a Queen."

"Your superior, then. She will be made aware."

Major Sheppard let irritation harden his voice. "Sure, why not? Dr. Weir will be made aware that people who treat guesses as infallible fact are idiots."

Ivory hair rippled as Steve expelled an uneasy snort. Then…

"Acceptable." Gloved fingers hooking long, silky strands behind his ears, the wraith swung away from the defunct analyzer and moved deeper into the cluster. "The design leads me to suspect the device was capable of monitoring, and possibly manipulating, various aspects of organic micro-circuitry."

Micro-circuitry… That made sense given the specialty of the hive the organic tools supposedly came from. Sheppard shoved a belly-up, eel-like thing aside with his knee and waded after Steve. Behind him, Sergeant Bates expanded the escort's half-circle so it encompassed the entire length of the group of pedestals. Hesitating beside Private Sheere, Zelenka muttered anxiously in Czech, and then followed.

"What sort of 'aspects' are we talking about?" Sheppard asked.

Steve's lean form paused by the next pedestal. His olive eyes caught the Major's questioningly, and Sheppard belatedly pointed at it. "I don't know…"

"You don't know? Or you don't wanna guess?"

Hissing softly, Steve focused on the carcass. "I do not know. Micro-circuitry is not my specialty. And the clues I would normally use to deduce that are gone…" He began feeling the decaying shell, testing it like he had the other. "This is a molecular analyzer as well." He performed a quick cheek sweep. "Also dead."

"No more details?" Sheppard eyed the thing dubiously.

"No more than the first," Steve confirmed.

"Leave it be, then." No use wasting time in this stench…

The tour continued, weaving a path through the cluster, nudging unidentifiable, floating things aside, and halting at each skeletal protrusion. With increasingly apparent frustration, the wraith labeled each stop a dead, molecular analyzer and stalked on to the next, leaving a trail of agitatedly splashing ripples in his wake.

Peering into the seventh, octagon-framed sink, Major Sheppard finally got annoyed. "These things all look the same!" he complained.

Studying the sixth console, Dr. Zelenka murmured agreement, "In appearance, they do seem to be identical. The basic shape and basin sizes are all the same—"

"There are subtle differences in the layout of the controls," Steve hissed.

"Really? Coulda fooled me." Sheppard was seriously considering skipping the last few. He stabbed his finger towards rotting sink number eight.

"I assure you, Major. I do not deceive…"

"Ah! I see!" Zelenka peered excitedly at the holes where his analyzer's controls had once been, "We should photograph these for easy comparison."

"Whatever floats your boat," Sheppard grumbled, "Just don't drop the camera."

A knowing, unconcerned chuckle, "I will call for one with waterproof casing."

"You do that…"

"This one is dead too." Having followed the pointed digit, the wraith had stalked impatiently ahead and was already moving towards number nine.

While Zelenka radioed for his camera, Sheppard jogged to catch up. The fetid liquid splashed chillingly against his thighs, soaking more of his pants. Great. This tour had turned out GREAT. He was SO looking forward to the final shower stop.

He shoved his sarcastic irritation down. "Another analyzer?"

"Yesss…" Steve paused barely long enough to perform cheek passes, "As is this one. It is dead as well." He swept away, splashing towards rotting sink ten.

Dead. Dead. "Everything down here's dead." Sheppard paused, suddenly realizing something, "Hey! Aren't you gonna poke it, at least?!"

A derisive, disgust-ridden snort burst from the wraith. "To what purpose!? Its inner workings are liquefied—"

"But how can ya tell without—"

"It's aura of rot is the same!" Steve swung towards the Major, hissing agitatedly while raising his ungloved hand. The escort's stunners lifted warningly as his goo-slicked, visibly discolored fingers flexed. "I tire of touching this, this… This Death!" Olive eyes darting aside, Steve expelled an explosive, barking chuff.

Well. THAT was unexpected!

AND amusing…

"A little ironic, don't ya think?" Major Sheppard observed dryly, "Considering you survive by sucking the life outta things with your hands?"

Steve inhaled a deep, open-mouthed breath, "That was not the word I meant."

Sheppard had kinda figured that. "Then what did you mean?" He raised an eyebrow, waiting patiently while the wraith calmed himself.

Closing his eyes, Steve exhaled a long hiss. Then… "What I meant is unimportant. What IS relevant is this fact," He lifted his gloved fingers to his face and curled his neck from side to side, drawing the orifices on his cheeks past the dark material restraining his feeding slit. "These are the only parts of my anatomy that are necessary for determining whether something is dead, or alive."

Now THAT was a useful tidbit to know. "Interesting…"

Oval-pupiled eyes snapping open, the wraith curled his gloved forearm across his stomach with a snort and looked away. "No doubt your Carson will be fascinated."

Was that an invitation? Sheppard gestured for the marines to relax. "All right, Steve. Ya don't have to touch it if ya don't want to. Just don't miss anything."

"I will endeavor not to," Steve murmured. Turning, he resumed his annoyed splashing towards rotting sink ten…

…Which got the same diagnosis as nine. "Another dead analyzer…"

As did eleven… "An analyzer. Dead."

And twelve. "The same."

Major Sheppard was frowning by this point. That'd been testy outburst two, and they weren't finding squat that couldn't be found later. Given the wraith's obvious discomfort, taking a break might be smart. Split the investigation in half. Make two trips. Maybe come back AFTER the muck was pumped out… Heck, the stuff was already rotting away. Letting it dry out a few more days wouldn't hurt.

And that shower was seeming awfully inviting.

…Plus, his feet were getting cold. "Hey, Steve," Sheppard kept his tone deliberately nonchalant, "Maybe we should stop for today. Ya know, get cleaned up. Wash that Death off your hand…"

With a rattling hiss that everyone, (except Zelenka), recognized from testy outburst one, Steve descended on the last pedestal in a flurry of determinedly flapping leather. "No!" a multi-tonal chuff punctuated the bark, "I will not return to this place until after your subordinates have cleaned it. We will finish—"

The eerie noise ceased as abruptly as it'd started, and Steve's eyes widened. "I recognize this." Leaning down, he swept his cheeks across the pocked shell framing the pedestal's controls. "It is dead as well. But I can accurately identify it…" He straightened, gaze flicking to Sheppard disdainfully, "Without guessing."

So much for Operation: Warm Sheppard's Feet Up. "Okay… What is it?"

Tracing the decaying bowl with the silvery tips of his finger guards, the wraith refocused on the device. "A molecular tissue analyzer. Designed for testing the functionality and health of recently grown micro-circuitry components."

Sheppard waded over too it, "Sorta like a systems check?"

"Yesss…" Steve's eyes strayed across the stagnant water, to the next set of skeletally protruding structures. "And quality control," he murmured. A curious chuff, "No doubt its close proximity to the incubation chambers is no accident…"

"Incubation chambers?" Splashing over, safe and dry in his pea green, rubber boots, Dr. Zelenka looked towards the nearby remains. "Those are incubators?"

"WERE incubators," Sheppard corrected.

The physicist stared, "There are a lot of them."

"Yesss…" Frustration forgotten, Steve hissed absently and began drifting over to the new targets. "Several different typesss…"

Several DOZENS of several different types. Major Sheppard shot the quality control station a final, accusing glance and carried on. At least they didn't have to explore all the innards. That should speed things along…

And speed things it did. Unlike the analyzers, the incubators were aligned in a neat row. All their captive life-detector needed to do was dip his glittery shoulders on his way past and peer closely while announcing his verdict.

Which was dead. Invariably, and emphatically, dead.

After the first few, Steve stopped bothering to say the word and just started talking about them in the past tense. "These were for growing micro-circuitry."

Sheppard and Zelenka studied the indicated incubators. They were as wide as the small computer consoles, but deeper. Each had the skeletal, rib-like remains of a beach ball-sized ovoid mounted above its rotting control panel.

"What? All of them?" Sheppard asked. There were at least six.

The wraith's ivory hair rippled with a barely perceptible nod, "All of them of this size, yesss…" White light from the waterproof lamps glistened inkily in Steve's wake as he glided further down the row. "And these were for growing specialized components. Nonstandard control elements. Analyzer modules…"

Dr. Zelenka tapped his chin, comparing the structures curiously. They looked very similar. "May I assume it is the dimensions of this, uh…" he gestured at the ribbing curving over a station, "Chamber? That you're using to determine the unit's function?"

Steve dipped his face towards the next incubator. "Yes, mostly… The nourishment pods are the clearest indicatorsss…"

"Nourishment pods," Sheppard murmured. It sounded like a grade 'B' horror flick term. Incubator machines. Pod people… Cocoons.

"But, again, there are variations in controls." A razor-sharp, silvery tool tip traced an irregular hole in the incubator's shell, "Here, for instance…"

Major Sheppard raised an eyebrow. It didn't look any different from the other holes. Though he had to admit, the 'nourishment pod' was a bit bigger…

The wraith glided on, and Zelenka scratched an 'X' in the decay by the hole, marking it for cataloguing when the camera arrived.

"More custom component incubators…"

Wading alongside the remains with the escort as he kept the captive covered, Sergeant Bates observed, "Sounds like there was a lot of customizing going on."

The comment elicited a disdainful chuff. "Not unexpected considering the uniqueness of the end product." Ignoring Bates's frown, Steve paused by the next skeleton. "This was capable of growing hard-drives and neural filament seeds."

Another interesting term. Neural filament seeds… Sheppard's other eyebrow lifted, "You mean like what the hard-drive upstairs is expelling?"

Steve ran his cheeks over the unit before answering. "That is correct."

"So this once grew brain stuff…" The Major eyed the hard-drive incubators as he passed. The nourishment pods had increased in size again. In fact, that seemed to be a trend. Every new group was capable of growing bigger things…

"These were used for growing nutrient regulation systems."

And that confirmed ANOTHER thing he'd noticed. Nutrient regulation, (as he knew from recent experience), was necessary for hard-drive survival. "Call me crazy," Sheppard quipped, "but I'm guessing the stuff at the end of this line is the oldest."

Steve turned, long coat swishing in the stagnant liquid. He studied his captor appraisingly and then nodded. "Your deduction is accurate, Major. Each of these has been necessary for the development of devices we've already passed."

"But not for ones we haven't gotten to yet."

A softly hissed, "No…"

"So we're getting close to your, 'I'll know it when I see it,' stuff."

Chuffing in protest of the mocking tone, Steve narrowed his eyes and continued down the line, without answering.

"I'll take that as a yes," Sheppard grinned.

The wraith snorted derisively and recommenced passing his cheeks over incubators. The nourishment pods were even bigger now, over a yard in diameter. "Your amusement at my expense is both incomprehensible and unwarranted."

Surprised by the unexpected segue, Major Sheppard shrugged, "Well… I gotta find something down here to keep my mind off the smell."

"And finding humor where there is none is your diversion of choice?"

"I suppose ya could say that."

The pale lips twitched, "And is it working?"

Exchanging an amused glance with Private Laris, Sheppard considered the question a second. If he was truthful…? Yes. Should he BE truthful? Probably not.

"Nah, not really."

Steve snorted and examined the nearest pod, hooking his hair primly behind one ear as he scrutinized it. "Then I would prefer if you ceased doing so. These were internal systems incubators, capable of producing a wide variety of tissue configurations—"

"And they don't like unwarranted humor?"

An annoyed hiss, "Seeing as they are dead, they have no preference."

Sheppard couldn't resist, "But if they were alive…?"

A splash reverberated through the massive, decay-filled room as the wraith rounded on him, olive eyes flashing with vexation. "Then they would still have no preference!" Steve snapped. The escort's stunners clattered up warningly, and he cocked his head, regarding them challengingly, "This conversation is pointless!"

"Really?" Feigning startled innocence, Major Sheppard helpfully offered, "Well, if it's so pointless, maybe you should stop participating in it?"

An incredulous, oval-pupiled blink…

"See? Just like that. It's easy." The Major braced himself, aware that he was potentially flirting with 'testy outburst three,' but instead of the expected sneer and rattling hiss, Steve abruptly whirled away in disgust.

"This foolishness is a waste of time."

Was it, now? Somewhat amazed that he'd gotten away with the banter, Sheppard tried one last jab. "You're the one stopping to complain about it."

No response. The wraith's focus had already returned to the dead devices. "The units beyond these were used to create this room's support infrastructure."

Taking the blatant cue, Sheppard glanced up at the messy tangle of kelp and decay clinging to the walls. He remembered the earlier references to nutrient distribution and recycling systems. "Making it possible to build all the other stuff we've seen."

"Yesss…" Steve's coat swished dismissively passed the 'internal systems' incubators as he waded further down the line. "Their capabilities were limited."

"Meaning they were more specialized?"

"That is correct."

The pods of the last few stations were shaped differently from the others. Long and thin, instead of spherical. Touching for the first time since his Death complaint, Steve ran his ungloved hand across the ribs of a long, horseshoe-shape, dislodging seaweed and partially desiccated lumps of rotten shell. "Tissue cultivators for grafting…" he murmured. His stained fingers slipped to the controls, brushing a patch of bluish-black carapace clean. "It is not as extensively corrupted as the others," he performed a slow, lingering cheek sweep, and frowned. "But it is still dead…"

Dr. Zelenka sloshed to the cultivator as Steve moved away. "Are you suggesting this device survived immersion longer?"

A noncommittal chuff met the question. "I suggest nothing. I am merely observing facts. That device died later than the others."

Zelenka stared at the skeletal, horseshoe trough thoughtfully, "Perhaps as a result of an emergency resource allocation program…?"

A sharp, ivory-rippling nod, "Undoubtedly, that was—" Freezing abruptly, Steve hissed loudly and then snapped his chin up. The orifices on his cheeks widened.

Wondering what he'd sensed, Major Sheppard stopped and watched warily as the wraith swayed his face from side to side. "Anything we should know about, Steve?"

A breathy exhalation whispered through Steve's translucent teeth. "I am not sure…" He reached for the next device, testing the shell and thrusting the quivering slits framing his nose towards it with renewed enthusiasm. "This was a membrane generator, for supporting grafts and effecting repairs. Like the tissue cultivator, it died later."

"Definitely a triage protocol," Zelenka murmured.

"Yesss…"

Deciding to let the lack of a substantial answer go, (for now), Sheppard studied the generator. Its pod was tall, straight, and thin. And deep. Several yards deep. He could easily imagine it strung with large sheets of tautly stretched, pulsating, yellowy membranes, like the one Steve had cut from M1X-347's dying computer…

Paralleled by his escort, the wraith splashed on, already examining the next incubator. An air of palpable anticipation emanated from the alien as he scraped his ungloved claws and finger guards across its controls. Its rib-frame pods were small and numerous. "An undifferentiated cell incubator." Cocking his head, Steve paused a second before adding, "For creating what your Carson calls 'Stem cells.' It survived longer as well. Significantly longer, in fact."

"But it's still dead," Sheppard pointed out.

"Yesss…" A rattling hiss, (deeply satisfied instead of blatantly hostile), permeated the air as the wraith's glittering eyes fastened on the Major intently. "However, something in here is not. Of that, I am certain now."

Sheppard blinked in surprise, but Steve was already turning away, engrossed in sweeping his cheeks over every square inch of the remaining equipment.

"I cannot pinpoint its location exactly yet, but the signs are unmistakable." Steve's multi-tonal mutter hissed excitedly, "One of these stations is still alive."

Intrigued but skeptical, Major Sheppard studied the nearby skeletons with renewed interest. Their shells did appear to be more intact, (fewer gaping holes and hollow parts), but they were still riddled with gooey patches of decay. "Are ya sure you're not just sensing a crab or something?" Sheppard was pretty sure he'd felt things scuttle across his boots a few times. The fish in here might've suffocated in the sludge, but relatives of Zelenka's octi-crab could probably survive a bit longer…

An absently dismissive snort squelched that notion, "I can tell the difference between animal life and technological viability, Major. The two are quite distinctive." Hair pressed tightly to his chest, Steve was bent double, examining a low, circular device. Its top barely protruded from the rippling surface, but dozens of skeletal ducts radiated from the water around it, snaking towards the walls and curling to nearby remains.

"A nutrient distribution hub. Dead within, but possessing a salvageable external casing." Not bothering to straighten, Steve continued down the row while Sheppard rapped the hub with his knuckles. Algae and debris squished as the shell thunked hollowly. It didn't give like other bits the Major had tested.

"A distribution hub?" Zelenka joined him in tapping the object. "We are beyond the incubators, then…?"

"Light years beyond," Sheppard confirmed.

"If this is truly salvageable," Zelenka offered, "perhaps Carson will wish to transplant the hard-drive?"

"Either that or make a giant Frisbee," Sheppard quipped. "It's certainly shaped right for it. Perfectly round… A little big, though."

The physicist chuckled, "I do not think I could lif—"

An insistent hiss cut them off. "This was a nutrient regulation system." The wraith was tracing a complex tangle of seaweed-clad, tubular conduits. Reaching a fanning cluster at its end, he swept his cheeks to the next device without pause. "This was the nutrient mixing station." His face lifted briefly, ghosting past one of the towering structure's skeletal, two-story ribs. "Though its observation membranes have decayed, its casing is firm. There may be viable marrow trapped within this support."

Sheppard wasn't impressed. "Marrow? That's the life you were talking about?" How the Hell was THAT useful? "I'm disappointed, Steve."

A disdainful snort. "You are also jumping to conclusions, Major."

"Good. 'Cause it would've been ANTI-climactic if I wasn't."

Steve rolled his olive eyes in disgust. "The marrow, if it exists, can be cultured and used to revive the framework of this laboratory's entire support infrastructure."

Really? All that from marrow? "So you're saying it's NOT anticlimactic."

No response. The wraith had reached the end of the nutrient mixer and was brushing goo off the last device in the row. As Sheppard watched, the glittering shoulders dipped and a pleased hiss whispered across the stagnant water.

Curling deftly against the dark shell, (without touching it), Steve smiled widely and spoke. His smooth voice was rich with satisfaction. "This device was—" Eyes snapping to Sheppard, he inclined his face slightly, deliberately correcting himself, "ISSSS… the purification and filtration unit of a nutrient regulator."

"IS?" Hiding his sudden curiosity, Sheppard feigned bored enlightenment and waded over to investigate, "So this is the living stuff you sniffed earlier."

An annoyed chuff, "I did not sniff it."

"Detected, then."

Steve looked away, dismissively ignoring his captor. His ungloved fingers fluttered over the surviving filtration unit's shell. "The external controls suffered extensive sodium corrosion during immersion. However, I see signs of recent regeneration, as well. It's preservation capabilities are taxed, but intact."

At the wraith's words, Dr. Zelenka splashed excitedly towards the device. "You're saying, it is trying to fix itself?"

"Yesss. And it is succeeding. For now…" Arm bracing on the intact casing, Steve leaned sharply forward and peered into the organic machine's interior.

Realizing it was hollow, Sheppard raised an intrigued eyebrow, stepped closer to the chest-high object, and mirrored the wraith's action. The inside was flooded with liquid to the same level as the rest of the room, though the stuff was clearer and cleaner looking. The shadowy shapes of intake and outflow ports dotted a maze-like network of shallow barriers and partitions. There were membranes and odd growths scattered throughout it, too. (Sheppard didn't bother speculating on their purpose.)

Leaning closer, the Major glanced at Steve, who was studying the tissue formations intently. "So what's the verdict? Will it recover from being fish bait?"

The alien's pale brow furrowed delicately. "Only if properly tended."

Zelenka joined Sheppard, squinting over his shoulder, "But you said it's succeeding? What is the difficulty—"

"Its filters have deteriorated." Beads glimmering, the wraith stretched his gloved feeding hand down into the maze, indicating a blackened, slime-slicked mass of tissue. Unlike its orangey, blue-mottled neighbors, it looked decidedly unhealthy. "They were not designed to accommodate the high sodium concentrations present in seawater."

"But the water's receded a lot," Sheppard mused. "It's been sifting the same stuff for a few months." (Since Atlantis resurfaced.) "Shouldn't that help?"

Steve gave a short, negative snort. "The relief is too late. They've been operating beyond capacity for many years. Their regenerative capabilities cannot keep up."

"So they're slowly dying…" he frowned. "And when the filters go—"

"The unit is already exhibiting several indicators of impending failure."

"Right…" Given their surroundings, that wasn't terribly surprising. "But you know how to fix it?" Sheppard prodded. Beside him, Zelenka perked up hopefully.

Withdrawing, Steve hissed softly and began circling the unit, "Yesss… Though I am not inclined to do so given the current, distasteful atmosphere."

Dr. Zelenka jumped in as the Major's frown deepened. "If you tell me what to do, our people can take care of it. Now. Before room is drained."

Pausing in his examination of a large bulge protruding from one side of the purifier, the wraith considered Zelenka appraisingly. He nodded, "Very well…" Splashing softly, he stepped around the seaweed-dotted shell and approached the physicist carefully. Under Sheppard's and the escort's wary gaze, he averted his face non-threateningly and sank into a half-crouch, cautiously extending his ungloved hand to disrupt the ripples lapping at the machine's base. "There is an outflow port," his fingers vanished briefly beneath the glistening surface, less than an arm's length from Zelenka's knees, "Here. Flush the unit with distilled water until the discharge is steady and clear."

"We get the picture," Sergeant Bates warned, "Now back off slowly."

"Easy, Sergeant," Sheppard murmured. The wraith was too close, yes. But he WAS doing what Zelenka had asked…

Straightening gracefully, Steve glanced at Bates and obediently complied, retreating back to the bulge he'd been studying. He absently traced its shell as he continued, "There is an intake valve on the opposite side. It must be blocked or redirected, to prevent the unit from taking in further nutrients before it has repaired itself." Steve turned his head aside, deliberately sweeping his focus across the entire, cavernous room. "All the liquid in this space can be converted to usable nutrient solutions by this purifier. However, your people must desalinate it first."

Zelenka brightened, "That will not be a problem. Desalination is easy."

The olive eyes fixed on him intently. A soft, skeptical chuff, "Desalination without the loss of desirable compounds and trace elements?"

"That uh, will complicate things, yes. But not prohibitively—"

"Piece of cake." Dilated, oval-pupils snapped to Sheppard's face, and he shrugged. "Salt removal's our specialty." Atlantis was equipped with massive desalination plants, designed to provide fresh water for an entire city. He was sure Rodney could whip something up from that.

Steve blinked, "You are confident in this?"

Sheppard smiled innocently, "Completely."

…And if not? He'd sick Carson's 'Chemistry lads' on the problem…

Tilting his face reflectively, the wraith trailed his ungloved hand across the igloo-shaped casing by his waist and slipped around to the opposite side of the purifier. "In that case, treating the liquid from this area is your first priority."

As opposed to treating liquid from OTHER areas, (which were all connected to each other). Ummm… Can we say, diffusion? "And why would that be?"

"The liquid here will be easier to digest." Steve seemed unperturbed by the question. "There is a secondary outflow, allowing unpurified solutions to be re-filtered."

"Really?" Sheppard pursed his lips, hiding confusion. Admittedly, he wasn't a scientist, but he was pretty sure diffusion should've redistributed any predigested stuff.

"Yesss…" Catching Zelenka's eye, Steve tapped the edge of the tank. "Dr. Zelenka. The intake valve is below the waterline, beneath this point."

"Wait a moment. I will come see." Zelenka hastily waded to the purifier's front.

The wraith watched patiently as he skirted the tank.

Still feeling like he was missing something, Major Sheppard began wading around the bulge, circling the device in the other direction, hoping to see something enlightening. In the process, he tripped over the source of his confusion. A muted splash and surprised exclamation in Czech told him Zelenka had also found it.

"Careful, Radek. There's a wall."

A flustered incomprehensible mutter. "I know. I just discover it."

Sheppard studied the wall. It was a low, blackish blue shell formation, barely protruding from the water's surface, and it blended with the murky water quite effectively, which explained why he hadn't noticed it before. The thin structure, (maybe half a foot wide), extended from both the bulge's base and the purifier's front, where Zelenka had hit it, and the two branches connected to two sides of the room's infrastructure, enclosing a sizable portion of floor space. Its height prevented liquid exchange with the unenclosed area. And explained the wraith's reasoning.

(How he'd managed to traverse it without breaking stride or giving any physical indication whatsoever that it was there, remained beyond comprehesion, though.)

"Hey, Steve," Sheppard called, "What's this barrier for?"

No response. Steve was focused on Zelenka, who'd crossed the wall and was approaching timidly in his envy-spawning, peagreen boots. The wraith touched the purifier again. "Here. The secondary outflow is located directly above it."

Stepping into the enclosed area, Sheppard looked down, mildly surprised. The water felt cleaner. It looked clearer, too. AND was noticeably thinner. He didn't feel like he was wading through a mucky, miring sludge as much.

Still icy cold, though…

He turned a slow 360 , wondering if there were any other differences. "Hey, Steve. I asked you a question."

No response. The wraith was now leaning over the purifier's edge, pointing out valves from the inside while Zelenka peered interestedly at them.

Unimpressed by the mild display of defiance, Sheppard sidled over to the seemingly engrossed alien and joined in the peering. Outwardly serious, he loaded his voice with flippancy, "Something change in there during the last thirty seconds?"

Frowning, Zelenka glanced up, "I do not believe so. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Sheppard quipped, "You two just seem… awfully fascinated all of a sudden." Steve's olive eyes snapped to Sheppard's, and he added, quickly and meaningfully, "To the exclusion of the rest of us…"

A brief staring match ensued, during which the Major suddenly appreciated how close those olive eyes actually were. And how tall their owner was…

Outside the enclosure, (decidedly dissatisfied with the lax attitude both the scientist and his superior had begun displaying with the prisoner), Sergeant Bates made a fast series of hand gestures. The six-marine escort spread out and splashed over the wall, establishing a perimeter around the occupied side of the filtration unit.

Belatedly recognizing the wraith's inadvisable proximity, Dr. Zelenka retreated a few steps as Private Laris moved to cover him.

Body motionless, Steve's gaze snapped to the departing scientist with an unreadable snort, then darted across the marines, noting their protective deployment expressionlessly. He watched for a long moment… Once the movement and splashing had ceased, his eyes narrowed and slid back to Sheppard. His lips twitched with an imperceptible chuff, and he inclined his face slightly.

"It is the remains of a tank," Steve replied.

A tank? Really? Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "That's a pretty big tank."

"Yesss…" the wraith gestured up at the walls, at the room's decaying infrastructure, "Its rim would've reached that point."

Now that Sheppard knew to look for it, he could pick out a vaguely defined formation in the kelp-dripping chaos… It was more than two stories high.

"What sort of tank?" he inquired.

"A holding tank. For converting raw materials into usable nutrient sources."

Sheppard paused, thinking. Usable nutrient sources meant food for living computers, which in turn meant the raw materials needed to consist of those nutrients. And where did one find nutrients? …Nahhh. It HAD to be more complicated than that… He glanced at the captive, "Are you telling me this was a giant composter?"

A short, confirming nod, "That is correct, Major."

Okay, maybe it wasn't more complicated. "Let me get this straight. Your computers are powered by waste materials."

"Organic waste materials," Steve corrected, "Yes. Though under those circumstances, they can hardly be classified as waste."

Touché. Sheppard glanced about, not entirely feigning being impressed, "You guys—Wraith, I mean—are very practical, aren't you?"

A derisive snort, "I am not interested in discussing my species's technological philosophies with you, Major Sheppard. The atmosphere is hardly conducive."

"But you WOULD be willing to discuss them somewhere else?"

Steve bared his teeth in a falsely amiable smile, "Unlikely…"

Worth a try, anyway… Sheppard shrugged unconcernedly, "Well, in that case, let's play some more 'Point and Tell.' Haven't done that in a while."

"Very well." The wraith blinked his narrowed eyes expectantly.

Turning on his heel, Major Sheppard pointed at the igloo-shaped bulge protruding from the back of the purifier's base. "What's that growth?"

Steve didn't even look. "A heavily shielded hard-drive case."

A few yards away, Dr. Zelenka startled. "This filtration device contains a working computer?"

"Yes." Steve's oval pupils slid past his escort's perimeter, to the distant, skeletal dart. "This is the unit that was transported by that ship's dematerializer. The one capable of producing this entire laboratory. It contains the processing power and memory required to store all the schematics, DNA maps, and regulation programs needed to facilitate the growth of each piece of equipment here."

"So it's a databank?" Sheppard clarified.

White hair rippled with a sharp nod. "Its abilities will be adequate for such purposes, yes."

Excited, Zelenka interjected, "But they might be more than that?"

The wraith chuffed noncommittally, and the Major gave the bright-eyed physicist a curious frown. "Meaning…?"

Zelenka addressed Steve, "If this unit's function is databank, might it not also serve as the laboratory's, uh… backup?"

Back up? As in the redundant copying and saving of every experiment that'd ever been done here? Hiding his surprise, Sheppard eyed the prisoner carefully.

Steve tilted his head with a guarded hiss, "Perhaps…"

"Care to elaborate on that?"

The olive eyes darted to the purifier's degraded control panel. "The hard-drive has become isolated to protect it from corrosion. I cannot determine the extent of the unit's capabilities until it has finished regenerating its external interfaces."

Dr. Zelenka moved to the controls, "It will do that on its own?"

"If properly tended, yesss…"

"Meaning we're back to flushing it with distilled water," Sheppard guessed.

Another rippling nod, "That will be the most efficient way to speed its recovery…"

Major Sheppard crossed his arms and regarded the deceptively nondescript organic formations thoughtfully. "Anything else we should know about this? You know, other hidden properties? Organic details I might not think to ask about?"

A barking laugh echoed in the rotting laboratory like a rifle shot as Steve jerked his head up. His marine escort tensed uneasily, and the sound morphed into a musical chuckle. The pale face swung towards Sheppard disbelievingly. "You would trust a prisoner enough to expect an honest answer to such a non-specific, unverifiable inquiry?"

Sheppard pretended to consider the question seriously. Then…

"In the interest of being truthful with each other… Not particularly, no."

More disbelieving chuckling. "Yet you ask anyway!?"

Unsettled, the Major met Steve's blatantly incredulous stare warily. "Yes, I did. I do. And if you don't answer, I'll ask you again. Is that a problem?"

Steve drew his lips back and shook his head, releasing an open-mouthed hiss, "No, Major Sheppard, it is not. From MY perspective." He chuckled again.

Sheppard hid a frown. There was something off about the wraith's tone. It seemed edgy… Almost frantic. If he were human, Sheppard would've classified it as slightly unhinged. Or perhaps desperately frustrated…

But the wraith wasn't human. And Major Sheppard didn't intend to make the mistake of treating him like he was. Not with him out of the cell, at any rate.

He eyed the wraith coldly. "Care to share what's so funny? Steve?"

"You are, Major." Like a switch being flicked, the strange mirth vanished as abruptly as it'd appeared. Steve's eyes burned into Sheppard's. "I do not believe you comprehend how badly I wish to leave this place." His words bit out venomously, "Should I choose deception as a means of facilitating our departure, you would have no way of knowing. Yet you persist in dragging this experience out."

The beads ringing the wraith's wrist glimmered, and the Major's expression hardened. "Are you threatening to start lying?"

"Perhaps I already have, Major."

Sheppard glared, "What's THAT supposed to mean?"

Facing him fully, Steve leaned towards him, cheeks twitching with a condescending chuff, "I could've lied about every device in this room."

Crap! He'd misjudged the power of the stench. Thrusting aside his misgivings, Sheppard schooled his voice to a dangerous calm. "And did you? Lie?"

Steve straightened with an explosive snort, "No!" His scathing, chordal tone dripped absurdity, "And therein lies the irony of the situation!"

"Good! 'Cause I was under the impression," Sheppard snapped, "that YOU wanted to know what these things were just as much as WE do."

Eyes squeezing shut, the wraith took a deep, open-mouthed breath. "Not everything needs to be revealed at once, Major Sheppard. Not every avenue needs to be considered NOW, at this instant—"

"AH! WHAT THE??!!!"

Stunners clattered, and Sheppard spun towards the shout. At the security perimeter's edge, Private Sheere was backing hastily away from the group, alertly panning his weapon across the glistening surface of the water.

"What's the matter, Sheere?"

"Something just swam past my leg!"

The nearest marines whipped their attention to the murky fluid.

Recovering, Sergeant Bates strode quickly to the Private. "What sort of something?" he demanded.

"I don't know!" Startling at each ripple, Sheere scanned the fetid liquid feverishly, "A big something!"

Bates glowered at the restrained panic tinging his voice, "Get a grip, soldier!"

"Yeah," Sheppard quipped, "No need to get excited."

"Yes, Sir! Sorry, Sir!" Not lowering his guard, Sheere's movements became more methodical, losing their frenetic, random quality.

"It can't be too big," the Major added, positively, "The door was only open a crack." All the dead fish he'd seen floating in here were either long and skinny or flounder flat. "It was probably an eel or something."

Watching the futile seach anxiously, Dr. Zelenka worriedly muttered, "Unless it came in small, then grew big."

"Not helping, Radek."

"Sorry," Zelenka paused… "Might it have been a crab?"

"It was definitely swimming," Private Sheere said.

"Maybe a swimming crab?" the Czech started to say more, but stopped. He glanced at Sheppard. "Um… This might not be a timely question, but… Why is, whatever it is, still alive…?"

Bates turned to Zelenka warily, "What's your point, Doctor?"

"Well, uh… Everything else that was trapped here is dead—"

"Not entirely true," Sheppard interrupted, "I thought I felt some things crawl across my boots earlier."

"Crustaceans, yes. But no fish. Nothing swimming."

Sheppard glanced at Steve. The wraith had regained his composure and was watching Private Sheere's predicament curiously. "Its probably the tank's fault."

"What?" Zelenka looked at the low wall, confused.

"You heard Steve," Sheppard shrugged, "The water's cleaner here. Things probably survive longer."

"I suppose that's reasonable…"

Beside Sheere, Sergeant Bates broke off his scanning to regard his superior meaningfully, "I think it would be wise to get out of this tank, Sir."

The Major nodded, "Just what I was thinking… Okay, let's—"

"That will not be necessary." Nine pairs of eyes snapped to the prisoner suspiciously. Steve was craning his neck, watching the water beyond the legs of his escort intently. His focus darted across the stagnant, muck-marred surface purposefully. "The entity he has encountered is relatively harmless."

"Relatively," Sheppard echoed. Somehow that didn't inspire confidence…

"You know what this thing is?" Sergeant Bates challenged.

No response. Steve continued staring at the surrounding water with rapt attentiveness. A low splash sounded. His face whipped towards the noise, zeroing in on it instantly. Following their charge's gaze, the marines shifted uneasily.

A rippling disturbance with no visible source appeared.

Sheppard frowned as it quickly vanished, sending wavelets lapping at the wall. "Okay… I think we're done. Everyone outta the jaccuzi—"

Letting out a squeak, Private Laris jumped aside, "It's over here!"

A marine across the semi-circle from her gasped and leapt back, "Here!"

"No! Over here!"

A flurry of chaos engulfed the escort. Splashing echoed in the lab as the submerged creature knocked shins and nudged knees, slipping among the startled marines like a ghost. Stunners flailed. Curses flew. Feet kicked. The water, (already opaque), churned violently, making it impossible to tell where it would strike next.

Flopping spray peppered the Major's thigh and the water around his right leg displaced with the thing's passage. Something heavy struck his calf, sending him staggering. It felt like a sideways tail swipe. "Damn! It's strong!"

Beside him, Steve hissed in frustration, "Tell your subordinates to hold still, Major. They are confusing it!"

Best plan he'd heard all day. "Everybody freeze! That's an order!"

The marines all froze. Zelenka clung to the purifier, muttering nervously in Czech. Within the security perimeter, a small, (yet powerful), wake surfaced and vanished as the water calmed. It surfaced again, stroking in a circle. Then dove.

With a soft sploosh, the disturbance reappeared, closer to the purification unit.

Tense silence settled over the group as it vanished once more. Unperturbed, the wraith stared at the area around the fading glimmers of motion, eyes narrowing intently.

Another sploosh… A silky rushing sound, like someone slowly pouring a cup of water into a tub. The accompanying displacement was even closer to the unit.

And closer, Sheppard also noted, to the wraith…

"Steve," he said warningly, "Are you talking to it?" Beckett's preliminary had suggested a large visual component to the alien's telepathy, and he was doing a lot of staring. (Not that this was unusual.) "'Cause if you are, I'd like to know wha—"

SPLOOSH! Something flopped, smacking wetly against the wraith's coat.

Quick as lightning, Steve dropped to a crouch and plunged his hand into the water, sweeping it sideways with an eager hiss. He straightened just as quickly, deftly jerking his arm up. Sheppard's eyes popped as a large, orangey-brown shape burst from the liquid, following the wraith's bracer in a large, wetly glittering arc.

The dramatic sight reminded him vaguely of a dolphin show. Except the 'dolphin' didn't return to the water afterwards. The wraith had hooked two of his fingers in its gills. It flopped, then hung there, dangling precariously, showering raindrops.

"What the Hell is that?!" Private Sheere snapped.

Wiping the startled surprise off his face, Major Sheppard watched with interest as Steve, (predictably ignoring Sheere), raised his arm higher and began turning his catch about, examining the thing with a smugly clinical smirk. It looked, for all the world, like a two foot long, armored catfish. Complete with long, trailing whiskers. Its shell was segemented for agility, smeared with faint, fuzzily brown spots, and its body, which smoothed into a sleek, tapered tail, was easily as thick as the Major's thigh. As it rotated, he saw its blunt-lipped mouth was wide and thin like a catfish's, too.

"What is it?" Dr. Zelenka edged closer cautiously, sounding awed.

Steve twisted his wrist to examine the armored catfish's back, and Sheppard got a perfect view of its underbelly. Which was a pale, unarmored yellowy-orange.

The fish-thing thrashed once, almost lazily.

Sheppard raised an eyebrow, "You heard Zelenka. What is it?"

Apparently satisfied, Steve lowered his catch slightly and turned it back so its belly was facing him. He hissed softly as it thrashed again. "It is," he made an odd noise, somewhere between a growl and a barking cough. Then he continued, "An artificial organism designed to hasten the breakdown of organic material." Catching Sheppard's eye, Steve glanced over one of his coat's glittering epaulets, meaningfully shifting his focus to the purification device. "No doubt, the unit has been birthing them in an attempt to improve the quality of its nutrient supply."

"Birthing them?" Sheppard pointed at the purifier disbelievingly, "You're telling me that thing's growing space fish?"

The artificial organism whipped its tail about vigorously a few times, and the olive eyes blinked patiently at him. "Yes, Major. I would imagine it is producing another as we speak."

"You mean there're more of those things?" interrupted Bates.

Steve fixed the Security Chief with an unreadable stare, which the Sergeant returned coldly. Finally he snorted. "Unlikely."

"But if it's been making them ever since the lab flooded?"

The wraith shifted his stance, punctuating the move with a quick, negative headshake. "They are not designed to live in saltwater." He stretched his arm out, holding the armored catfish away from him as it thrashed energetically. "This one is relatively young. It has not yet succumbed to sodium poisoning."

Droplets sprayed as the whip-like body gyrated once. Sheppard watched it sympathetically, "So we're gonna find lots of dead ones."

"Also unlikely," Steve chuffed absently, with disinterest, "They're bred to eat their dead. Among other things."

"How do they breakdown organic material?" Zelenka inquired, intrigued.

The wraith's reply was swift and succinct, "They eat and excrete it."

Murmurs of disgust came from the watching security escort as the thing began writhing and thrashing vigorously. Apparently unconcerned by the behavior, Steve twisted and turned his fingers, preventing it from freeing itself.

Unphased, Sheppard nodded, "Kinda like an earthworm."

"Exactly, Major."

A strange bubbling noise issued from the armored fish's gills.

"Um… Is it okay for you to be holding it out of the water like that?" Dr. Zelenka was watching the flailing creature worriedly. It was thrashing constantly now, flapping its wide fins while frantically whipping its tail about, contorting its lithe body in an increasingly panicked and desperate fashion. "It looks like it is suffocating."

Steve narrowed his eyes dismissively, "I am not harming it."

"But it has gills," Zelenka pressed, "It can't breath—"

As if on cue, the thing spasmed violently. A torrent of fetid water, heralded by a retching, burbling noise, burst from its gill flaps, showering Steve's arm and coat. Weaker spurts, accompanied by equally disturbing burbles, followed. Then it shuddered one last time and went limp. Obviously expecting this, Steve lowered his arm and nonchalantly draped the thing over his gloved forearm as a wet wheeze issued from its fluttering gills. "It is equipped with lungs for ease of hibernation storage."

Fascinated, Sheppard eyed the blunt, wedge-nosed face docily hanging over Steve's bracer with morbid intensity. It was pointing right at him, mouth gaping spasmodically with every gasping breath it took. Just like a fish out of water. (Which, technically, it was.) "Weird…" he muttered. Ford was gonna LOVE it…

"Not weird, Major. Practical."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow, "I thought you didn't wanna discuss that?"

Resting his ungloved hand idly on the smooth-shelled back, the wraith glanced at the Major smugly, then abruptly turned and waded towards the edge of the security perimeter, clearly signaling his loss of interest in the subject.

Behind him, Sheppard looked at the purifier, then shrugged. "Guess we're done here." After the last outburst, he wasn't inclined to press his luck much. (Though there WAS one last thing he wanted to check.) He gave the signal, and at a nod from Sergeant Bates, Dr. Zelenka and the security escort began moving out of the defunct tank. Steve followed, wading smoothly through the murky liquid, and Sheppard took up the rear, taking care to avoid the trailing coat as he watched the still-gasping fish thing.

"…" A high-pitched, wheezing moan issued from the armored catfish as they reached the low wall. For the first time since it'd started breathing air, it twitched slightly.

Frozen in the act of stepping over the obstacle, Steve retreated a pace and looked back. He tilted his head, regarding the nearly empty corner curiously.

Also pausing, Sheppard copied the act, "Whatcha doing Steve?"

"A moment, Major." The wraith stared at the water for a long second, scanning the isolated pool methodically… Suddenly his eyes widened in surprise. His multi-tonal reply carried a note of disbelief, "There is another…"

Sheppard glanced at Bates, "I thought ya said there wouldn't be anymore?"

"No, I claimed it was unlikely." Backtracking without permission, Steve moved further into the tank. He stood very still, waiting… After what seemed like an eternity to Sheppard's freezing toes, a faint splash disturbed the surface. Hissing softly, the wraith waded towards it. After another eternity, the new fish thing splooshed and floundered across the black leather floating around the alien's knees. Steve scooped it up, hoisting it by the gills as quickly and skillfully as the first. It hung from his fingers limply, and he held it at arm's length, examining it as he slowly walked back to the group.

"That one does not look healthy," Zelenka murmured, watching.

Sheppard privately agreed. The new arrival's fleshy parts were thin and emaciated, and it had bruise-like black spots on its shell that flexed as its body swung. It struggled weakly, lashing its tail with pathetic, ineffective twitches, and took a much longer time expelling the water from its lungs. When it finally succeeded, it moaned piteously. Frowning, Steve studied it with concern as it shuddered from tip to tail. Then he draped it carefully over his arm, gently laying it alongside the first.

It wheezed a few times, and began moaning with every gasp.

The other one promptly began moaning in response.

Sheppard inwardly winced. The eerie chorus was making the hair on his neck stand on end, and neither fish thing showed any signs of stopping soon. "That sounds gonna get annoying quick," he muttered.

Sergeant Bates eyed the thin one disapprovingly, "What's wrong with it?"

"Sodium poisoning," Dr. Zelenka guessed.

Splaying his ungloved fingers across the sick creature's back, Steve nodded absently in confirmation, "It is weak. Like the purifier, it possesses regenerative capabilities, but it must be desalinated to use them." He hissed softly, dipping his cheeks towards his wailing burden. First one, then the other, quieted at the attention. Satisfied, he lifted his face pensively, "I am not certain it will survive the process…"

"Since when are we desalinating them?" Sergeant Bates challenged.

The wraith's eyes flicked to Bates unreadably before settling on Zelenka. "To do so would be wise if you intend to supply this equipment," his oval-pupils darted to Sheppard, "Or the other hard-drive… With a steady supply of nutrients."

Sensing from the Security Chief's growing glower that he'd get an unpleasant earful later if he let the conversation continue in this presumptive fashion, the Major decided to intervene. "Desalination's all well and good, but this seems like one of those subjects that can be addressed in a more comfortable location. Preferably a drier one."

Steve narrowed his eyes and stepped over the low wall, looking towards the room's exit with eager relief. "I have no objection to postponement."

Neither did anyone else. As soon as it became apparent the decision was unanimous, the wraith began crowding the edge of his escort's perimeter, urging the marines impatiently towards the yawning shadows of the archway.

Amused, Sheppard let the captive's assumption that they were finally done stand for a few mischievous moments. Then…

"Not so fast! We've still got one stop left."

Jerking to splashing, hair-fanning halt, the black-clad, fish-burdened wraith spun to face his captor, who'd extracted himself from the escort and was striding jauntily through the stagnant water, receding into the blackness that engulfed the far side of the room. WHICH contained the one thing the wraith hadn't personally examined yet…

An annoyed chuff echoed through the decay-filled lab, and at the irritated sound, the distant figure of Atlantis's military commander stopped and turned.

Grinning roguishly, Major Sheppard whipped his arm up and pointed at the looming mass of the skeletal dart.

Not moving, Steve blinked at his captor disbelievingly.

"You cannot be serious!" he barked.

* * *

**Meanwhile…**

"This is SO not fair!"

Up in Atlantis's infirmary, Dr. McKay waved his datapad frustratedly and continued pacing agitatedly in front of Dr. Beckett's workbench.

"What've I DONE to deserve this?!"

Ever since Sheppard turned his radio off, the snubbed scientist had been insufferable, schizophrenically alternating between showering the absent Major with petty vindictives and excitedly speculating on the ramifications of the 'Octopus Room's' contents. Now he was taking a break from both to rage at the injustice of it all.

The datapad waved again. "It ALWAYS happens to me!"

Sitting beside Dr. Beckett, who was ignoring McKay as best he could while busily preparing slides of the hard-drive's rejected neural filament fragments, Dr. Weir regarded the aggravated display of petulance with dry amusment.

Suddenly McKay rounded on her. "Every single time I turn my back," he accused, "something interesting happens!"

Elizabeth frowned, "I'm sure it's not that bad, Ro—"

"Yes, it IS! It IS that bad!" Conveniently forgetting everything that regularly happened when he WAS directly involved, McKay stopped pacing and huffed, "Case in point," he brandished the datapad, gesturing in resigned exasperation, "I leave Zelenka alone with the wraith for FIVE MINUTES and he finds a DART! A DART!!"

"It was a little more than five minutes, Rodne—"

Dr. McKay cut Weir off with a self-deprecating laugh, "That's an entire, alien SPACESHIP!?! Where's the justice in that?!"

The expedition leader directed a rueful look at Teyla, who'd temporarily postponed her departure for the mainland in light of the interesting developments that'd occurred. The Athosian replied with a sympathetic half-smile and a barely perceptible lift of her shoulders that said she understood Elizabeth's patient humoring.

Caught up in his rant, McKay didn't notice the exchange. "It doesn't make sense!" he squeaked, "My karma can't possibly be this bad!"

"Perhaps, Dr. McKay," Teyla offered, remembering her experiences on bead-hunting duty, "you should consider what you are avoiding more than what you—"

"What I'm AVOIDING is the discovery of the century!"

Patience wearing thin, Dr. Weir frowned warningly, "Atlantis was the discovery of the century, Rodney. Unless I'm mistaken, you were very present for that."

Missing the hint, McKay rolled his eyes. "Oh, please! You know what I meant!"

"Yes, I do." Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, "And I'm with Teyla on this. I think it would be wise if you made an effort to see the donut instead of its hole."

The word 'donut' stopped Dr. McKay in his tracks. "Donuts?" Comedic hopefulness transformed his countenance as he focused on Elizabeth animatedly, "What was that about donuts? 'Cause I haven't seen a real donut in this place for months. We ran out in the first week. If there're any left—Frozen, stale, I don't care what condition—I want them—Providing they're not lemon filled, of course."

Startled by the unexpected segue, Dr. Weir failed to suppress a laugh.

McKay's face fell in horror. "Oh my God. They're lemon-filled, aren't they?"

She stifled another laugh, "You're missing my point—"

"This is just my luck! There's an honest to God DONUT left in the Pegasus Galaxy, but I can't eat it 'cause it'll kill me! That's a perfect example—"

"There aren't any donuts, Rodney—"

"—of what I've been talking abou—" Freezing mid-rant, McKay stared at Weir with an accusingly dropped jaw, "What do you mean, there's no donut!?!"

Grinning apologetically, she shook her head, "I never said there wa—"

"No, no! I distinctly caught something about donuts and donut holes!"

A radio crackled. "Dr. Weir, this is Major Sheppard."

Elizabeth tapped her earpiece, grateful for the interruption in the conversation's growing absurdity. "Major Sheppard. I trust you have a status report for me?"

"Yes, I do." Muted splashing came over the connection. "Is McKay still there?"

She glanced at McKay, who looked distinctly put out. "He is."

"Good. 'Cause he's gonna wanna hear this."

Not waiting for Dr. Weir's signal, McKay was already fumbling with his earpiece, eager to join the connection. "What the Hell'd you hang up on me for?!"

"You're not allowed to interrupt this time," Sheppard warned.

Teyla and Weir exchanged an amused glance at McKay's irritated huff.

"Fine!" The physicist's voice went all businesslike, "What've you got?"

Major Sheppard replied cheerfully, "Space guppies!"

"Space guppies?" McKay blinked in confusion, "What are space guppies?"

"Please elaborate, Major," Elizabeth said, raising an eyebrow.

Down in the flooded hangar, Sheppard turned away from Steve, (who was approaching the dart angrily), and grinned, "Don't mind if I do. Long story short, we took Steve around the room, and he identified all the wraith tech. for us. Zelenka will share the exact details with McKay later, but my understanding is that this place was some sort of self-contained production and research laboratory."

"Do we know what kind of research and production?" Dr. Weir inquired.

Dr. McKay sighed long-sufferingly, "Glove related, obviously…"

Sheppard ignored the mutter, "According to Steve, the equipment's pretty heavy on the micro-circuitry side of things."

"Definitely glove related."

Weir frowned, "Hush, Rodney…"

"Anyway," Sheppard continued, "turns out one of the machines, a pretty important one at that, is still alive. AND its been producing artificial lifeforms to clean its nutrient supply. They look like fish, sorta the aquatic equivalent of earthworms."

"Hence the term 'space guppy,'" Elizabeth guessed.

"Yeah. Steve managed to salvage a pair." The Major paused, frowning, and shot an uncertain glance at the dart, "We're gonna… I don't know…" he shrugged, "Do SOMEthing with them after this. Steve hasn't said what yet."

"I see…" Elizabeth murmured. When Sheppard didn't volunteer more information immediately, she pressed, "Have you anything else to report?"

"Nothing pressing. We're gonna check out the dart and storm the showers before the debriefing—" Sheppard cut off at a sudden thought, "Oh! Ya might wanna get Beckett involved here. There's lots of incubating and tissue stuff going on. AND according to Steve, the water—I use that term loosely, by the way—is full of the nutrients he needs to keep the other hard-drive going—"

"Whoa, whoa!" cut in McKay, "What do you mean, 'other' hard-drive?"

"Did I say 'other' hard-drive?"

Rodney gave a short, sarcastic laugh, "Yes, you did."

"Oh." Sheppard feigned surprise, "Well, I probably said that 'cause there's another one down here. In the machine that's still running."

"You're kidding me."

Elizabeth's eyes widened, "Are you serious, Major?"

"Yeah, I'm serious. We can't access it 'cause it's isolated to protect it from decay, but Steve says there's a slim—and I mean SLIM—chance that it might contain back-up files from the lab—"

"THAT'S IT!" McKay's outburst made Dr. Beckett, Teyla, and Elizabeth jump, and in the flooded hangar, Sheppard winced. "I'M going DOWN there!!" Blue eyes sparkling with excitement, McKay rounded on Dr. Weir with a righteously brandished finger. "YOU can't stop me this time. There's a LIVE, Wraith, database. AND working, organic machinery. Those take precedence over every trivial project I'm working on up here. SO! You're reassigning me! Right now! This instant!"

Dr. Weir stared at him silently.

"Or else!"

The expedition leader's eyebrows lifted, "Or else what, Rodney?"

"Yeah, Rodney," Sheppard's disembodied voice quipped, "Or else what?"

McKay faltered, suddenly realizing how childish he sounded. His free hand dropped to his datapad and began fidgeting anxiously. He glanced awkwardly away, then, unwilling to concede total defeat, mustered his resolve enough to finish lamely, "I'm gonna start… seriously… questioning your judgement."

"Seriously…?" Dr. Weir echoed.

McKay sniffed, stubborn, yet impotently insincere, "Yes. Seriously."

"I see…" She regarded him impassively, waiting until the out-of-line scientist began to squirm under the implied disapproval of her inscrutable stare…

Rodney cracked in less than five seconds. "Okay, perhaps I should rephrase that. I would highly RECOMMEND reassign—"

Dr. Weir nodded decisively, "Go ahead, Rodney."

"—ment of myself and additional personnel to the draining of this la—What?" The frantic babble ground to a halt as abruptly as it'd started. "I can go?"

"Yes."

McKay's eyes darted to the exit disbelievingly, "Just like that?"

She nodded again, amused, "Uh-huh."

"You're sure?" he verified, "'Cause I don't want to force—"

"Completely." A wry, (and possibly slightly indulgent), smile touched Elizabeth's lips, "I'm fully capable of reevaluating past decisions in light of new information. And, in this situation, I agree with you. You should take a look."

"Oh." McKay blinked, stunned by his easy victory, "That's all right, then." His thumb jerked hesitantly towards the infirmary's door. "I'll, uh… just be going now."

"Good luck, Rodney."

Stumbling over chairs in his haste, McKay scrambled to his commandeered workstation, exchanged his datapad for an identical-looking one, grabbed the 'wraith-talker' life-signs detector, and bolted for the exit. Dr. Weir and Teyla watched his clumsy departure with amusement, and as the doors closed, Carson sighed in relief.

"Thank God. Ah thought he'd never go."

Elizabeth tapped her earpiece, "Did you hear that, Major?"

"Every word," Sheppard confirmed, "I'll leave Zelenka down here for him."

"You're not staying?"

"Nope. My toes are freezing, and Steve's already thrown several fits over the smell. We're almost done here."

"Very well." Dr. Weir brushed some hair back, "Finish your exploring and warm your feet up, Major. That's an order. I'll see you at the debriefing."

"Yes, Ma'am. Sheppard out."

The radio crackled into silence.

As a welcome stillness finally settled over the infirmary, Dr. Beckett finished dropping the coverslip onto the slide he'd been preparing and spoke, "Forgive me for sayin' so, but there's a reason the infirmary's normally kept separate from other departments. We value our peace an' quiet greatly. An' ah don' think Rodney understands tha'. Ah'm seriously thinkin' o' relocatin' 'im…"

* * *

**Meanwhile…**

"So, will it fly?"

Olive eyes, glittering with distant lamplight, stared at the Major frostily.

"Didn't think so. What about the future? Can ya fix it?"

More frosty glittering.

"That bad, huh?" Sheppard made an exaggerated show of breaking eye contact and critically surveying the dart. "I suppose it DOES need a little body work…"

No response. Steve was a fish-laden statue, a shadowy freeze-frame boring silent, thought-chilling holes in his captor's turned head.

Deliberately not looking, Major Sheppard resisted the urge to sigh. There was no better word for it. The wraith was throwing a hissy fit. …Make no mistake, he wasn't shouting, or snarling, or spewing insults. And there was no actual hissing involved, (surprisingly). But every detail of the wraith's being, from the rigid set of his thin shoulders and the ramrod spear of his spine, to his unblinking glare and the tense curl of his fingers as they lay, unmoving, on the space guppies' shells, screamed temper tantrum.

He looked almost as pissed as when they'd brought the masked wraith in… Only this time the anger was DEFINITELY directed at Sheppard.

"Ya know, Steve. I betcha we coulda been done by now."

A rasping hiss scoured the skeletal dart as Steve drew his lips back further and expelled a harsh chuff, pointedly emphasizing his open-mouthed breath. "It is DEAD."

"Aw, c'mon. You haven't sniffed it yet."

"I have not 'sniffed' anything in here!"

Ignoring the correction, Sheppard hardened his tone and turned to the irate alien seriously. "Look, Steve. Humor me on this. Then we can get outta here."

The wraith's eyes widened challengingly.

Growing impatient, Sheppard met the arrogant glare with equally defiant stubbornness and stated, "You WANT to get outta here."

Silence… Tension crackled in the air…

Then Steve abruptly whirled away with a growling snarl and began striding swiftly along the sides of the ship. Arms full of armored space guppies, he dipped his face to the gooey carcass and began rhythmically jerking his head back, chuffing disgustedly each time his hair accidentally touched the rotting chitin.

Recalling the fastidiousness with which the wraith had kept the ivory strands clean until now, Major Sheppard almost felt sorry for him. But only almost. The growing attitude problem was severely dampening his empathy at the moment.

Reinforcing that dampening, Steve stalked around the dart's fleshless, kelp-draped nose with a series of unnecessarily violent splashes, obviously designed to annoy the marines tailing him. The soldiers endured the spatterings of smelly drops stoically, steadfastly refusing to rise to the bait, and Sheppard frowned at the passive-aggressive display. It was a bit… well… childish, as Elizabeth would say. Irrational, even. Not what he'd come to expect from the wraith at all…

Of course, he hadn't deliberately tried Steve's patience like this before, either. Not under circumstances that were physically uncomfortable, anyway…

Sheppard rubbed his chin, contemplating that idea. It was entirely possible that, (with a few notable exceptions, like the 'look at me!' incident), the wraith hadn't actually been truly pissed at his captors before. Annoyed, yes. Exasperated, yes. But angry enough to lose his temper and affect his judgement for a period…?

Something told him the answer was a resounding 'No!'

Which in turn begged the question: What, (aside from the smell), made this experience so different from the others?

Frown deepening, Sheppard made a mental note to bring the matter up with Teyla and Elizabeth later. They were always good for a useful insight or two, and—

SPLASH!!!

Jerked out of his reverie, the Major spun towards the dart's cockpit. Inky, shadow-dilated pupils glittered from the decay. Steve had stopped, frozen, on the other side of the ship. The petulant fury emanating from the wraith's rigid body as he skewered Sheppard with a renewal of his frosty glare was almost palpable.

Sensing that ignoring the angry overture would result in more than a splash, Sheppard held the eye contact and took a step closer.

Silence… The livid glare continued.

Okay… Apparently the wraith wanted more. Suppressing a flash of wary amusement, Sheppard raised a mocking eyebrow in acknowledgement.

Again. Silence…

Then an abrupt blink.

"What do you hope to gain from this?" Steve spat.

Sheppard gave a nonchalant shrug as the wraith angrily tilted his head. "Well," he quipped, moving another step closer, "I was kinda hoping to gain myself a dart. Having one to practice on would be handy, if I ever wanna try flying 'em."

Steve's expression blanked. The suddenly deadpan stare was made all the more eloquent by the fact that it was reaching the Major through a gaping hole in the ship.

"Look, I know it's a long shot. I'm not stupid," a sharp chuff punctuated Sheppard's comment, "And I'm not expecting you to work miracles."

"What ARE you expecting? What can you possibly see that in any way REMOTELY suggests any part of this vessel might be salvageable?"

Epiphany niggled as the pale face tilted the other way. On impulse, Major Sheppard explained instead of forcing the wraith back on task. "It's like you said," leaning forward, he jerked his thumb towards the incubators, "Over there. About the marrow being viable." The olive eyes flicked in the direction he'd indicated. When they returned, he continued. "I was thinking, if we could find a pocket of viable marrow in this ship, we might be able to regrow it from scratch. Seeing how you suggested the incubators could be regrown after the purifier regenerates…"

Studying his captor's carefully open pose, Steve sank his glittering shoulders towards the hole, "Have you any idea how LONG such a project would take?"

Sheppard shrugged again, "I'm a fan of long term projects."

Teeth baring briefly, Steve drew back and closed his eyes, inhaling a long, open-mouthed breath. Tension bled from his frame as he slowly released it. "I understand."

"You do?" The epiphany niggling at the Major's thoughts surfaced fully, banishing the confusion created by the wraith's statement. Steve had thought their investigation of the dart was an inconsiderate whim. He hadn't expected Sheppard to have a reasonable motivation. Which meant, (in a way), the wraith had just given his captor the benefit of the doubt by asking the Major to explain himself.

Either that or he'd been trying to expose a malicious ploy…

Deciding he preferred the benefit of the doubt theory, Sheppard mentally congratulated himself for solving the mystery of Steve's fury without help. "Well, that's good," he quipped, "I'm glad you've achieved enlightenment."

Anger vanishing mercurially, Steve fixed the Major with a purposefully conciliatory, narrow-eyed stare. "If I can prove to you quickly that the viable cells you hope to find do not exist, will you consent to leave immediately?"

Another bargain, huh? The terms were certainly appealing… Holding Steve's gaze, Sheppard nodded seriously. "If your proof is satisfactory, I don't see why not."

"Done!" With an ivory flash and black swirl, Steve disappeared from view.

The marines following him dashed past the hole, and Sheppard spun to face the dart's rear. Barely a second later, the wraith emerged from behind the ship's engine casing and slid to a wave-making halt. Catching Sheppard's eye, his olive irises shot meaningfully to the stubby, wing-shaped stabilization strut by his knees.

"This structure is part of the vessel's main support network. It stretches throughout the ship's framework, and is heavily reinforced to withstand atmospheric maneuvering. If any cells have survived, they would be in this system." Steve's focus snapped back to Sheppard. "Do you accept this information?"

Amused by the rapid, matter-of-fact tone, Sheppard nodded, "Sounds reasonable."

"Good." With that, Steve lifted his ungloved hand from the space guppies' armored backs and whipped it down at the skeletal strut.

The deceptive ease of the movement belied the destruction it caused. The bruise-colored chitin, weakened by a century of decay, shattered like a broken eggshell, and almost immediately a thick, viscous liquid began pouring from the wound. Unlike an eggwhite, however, this liquid wasn't a healthy clear. It was tar black, and poured erratically, splattering lumpily out of the jagged opening like curdled milk.

Steve's fingers, which had barely slowed from the impact, swerved aside, deftly avoiding nauseating flood, and returned quickly to the space guppies. Stepping smoothly aside, Steve turned to face his captor. A disdainful grimace twisted his lips as a fresh wave of stomach-churning stench choked the air.

"Are you satisfied, Major?"

Wiping the shocked surprise off his face, Sheppard tore his gaze from the foul waterfall and looked at the expectant wraith with decisively understated ambiguity.

"Damn," he stated simply.

That was one of the most disgusting things he'd ever seen—OR smelled. And given the fetidness of their surroundings, that was saying something. Holding a hand up to his nose, Major Sheppard spun on his heel and headed for the exit.

"So much for THAT idea…"

* * *

**Meanwhile…**

"Our unwillin' guest was tellin' the truth. It's definitely neural tissue."

Pulling back from the microscope, Dr. Beckett moved to one side so his companions could view the close-up of the hard-drive's expelled neural filament fibers. Dr. Weir stepped in for a quick peek. Eyeing the stringy, fragmenting cells, she decided to take the medical expert at his word and made room for Teyla to take a turn.

"So it's neural," Dr. Weir echoed. She crossed her arms, turning to Beckett questioningly, "Does that change anything for us? Or for the hard-drive?"

Carson frowned musingly and gave a little headshake as he watched the Athosian peer curiously into the microscope. "Ah can't say for certain. Not yet."

His reply held an ominous ring that neither woman missed.

"But…?" Elizabeth pressed. In the chair beside her, Teyla glanced up.

Sighing softly, Carson gave them a mildly reproachful look, and then reluctantly admitted, "There's a distinct possibility tha' Rodney's plan might be effected."

Involuntarily, Dr. Weir's gaze shifted to the datapad and crystal interface rod lying on McKay's abandoned workstation. "And which plan would that be?"

"His 'Point an' Poke' plan."

"Ahhh… That one."

"Aye. Tha' one." Retrieving his clipboard, Dr. Beckett paced over to the hard-drive's tanks. "Ah told Rodney from the start, it might not be tha' simple."

"Why am I not surprised?" Threading her way between lab counters and equipment, Dr. Weir traversed the infirmary after him. Behind her, Teyla Emmagen looked one last time into the microscope, and then followed.

"So," Elizabeth announced, stopping beside Beckett at the waste tank, "What is the terrible wrench that'll be foiling Rodney's ingenius scheme this time?"

"Well, if my suspicions are correct, it's the entire design o' the technology."

"Really?" That would certainly make McKay's day…

Moving around to the other side of the ash-spewing tentacle, Teyla looked at Carson inquiringly. "In what way is the design a problem?"

He indicated the black silt slowly accumulating on the tank's bottom. "It's 'cause o' the neural tissue. An' the fact tha' its comin' out o' the drive's shell. For thin strands like tha' to be effective, a complex network is required. An' given the amount bein' expelled, ah suspect tha' network is both extensive an' intimately entwined with wha'ever organs the hard-drive possesses."

Confused, Teyla smiled apologetically, "I'm not sure I understand…?"

"I think I might," Dr. Weir offered. "Rodney's plan is to find the hard-drive's access point and plug a lifesigns detector into it. If I'm understanding Dr. Beckett correctly, he's saying the hard-drive doesn't have a single access point."

She and Teyla both looked to Carson to see if she was correct.

He nodded, "Tha's exactly wha' I'm saying. It's got hundreds o' minor access points instead. None o' which are o' any use on their own."

"And Rodney can only poke one at a time," Dr. Weir added wryly.

"Not to mention tha' those points are all encased within its shell."

Teyla's dark eyes brightened with amused revelation. "That would certainly make touching them difficult…"

"Aye. Near impossible." Studying the floating drive, Dr. Beckett frowned worriedly, "He'd 'ave to basically reinjure it. Ah doubt tha' would be wise."

"No, I'd imagine not," Dr. Weir murmured. Eyebrows lifting, she followed his gaze pensively. "Do you have an alternative to Dr. McKay's plan?"

Carson shook his head, "Not yet. But ah'm getting' a sneakin' suspicion tha' wha'ever solution we find will 'ave to be organic in nature."

"As in involving more Wraith technology."

"Aye. Tha' will likely be easiest…"

At Carson's words, Teyla Emmagen furrowed her brow and looked down at her hands, troubled. "Meaning you intend to rely on the prisoner once more."

Dr. Weir glanced across the tanks at her. "He IS a useful resource, in that regard," she reminded.

Teyla frowned, and Carson glanced at her ruefully, "Ah take it, ye don' approve?"

The Athosian hesitated. "It's not that I do not approve. It's more…" Caramel hair waving, she shook her head and started over. "I understand his value to Atlantis. But he is Wraith. I am wary of anyone becoming more deeply involved with him."

"Especially yourself."

Teyla's startled eyes snapped to Dr. Weir in momentary surprise, and the expedition leader smiled slightly to show she meant no offense.

"You are still uncomfortable around him," Elizabeth observed.

Not having heard Teyla's feelings on the wraith before, Dr. Beckett glanced between the two women curiously as a brief silence permeated the infirmary.

"Less so today than before yesterday, perhaps," Teyla admitted after a moment, "But, yes. His presence remains…" a diplomatic pause, "…unsettling."

"Unsettlin'. Tha's a pleasant way o' puttin' it."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement before continuing, "And that reminds me of something else I wanted to ask."

Sensing his presence was no longer needed, Dr. Beckett jotted down his newest observations on the neural filament expulsion and tactfully excused himself. "Ah think ah'll go check on the Chemistry lads. If the water in tha' lab's full o' nutrients, like Major Sheppard says, they'll be wantin' to analyze it soon."

"Good idea, Carson," Dr. Weir smiled. "I endorse it fully."

"Ah'll be seein' ye later, then." Carson glanced at Teyla, "If ah don' see ye before ye leave, 'ave a nice trip. Ah'm sure yer people will be 'appy to see ye."

Teyla inclined her head respectfully, "Thank you, Carson."

The two leaders watched him leave, and then Teyla looked to Dr. Weir expectantly. Not wanting to delay her further, Elizabeth went straight to the point.

"Dr. Corde said our guest singled you out unexpectedly, in the forest?"

"Ah…" The Athosian nodded in understanding, "That is correct. He recognized me from his capture. He claimed he wanted to take a closer look at me."

"I see. And do you believe him?"

Resting one hand lightly on the waste tank's edge, Teyla thought a moment, and then shrugged. "His behavior gave me no reason to doubt the assertion…"

Elizabeth held her gaze intently. "Are you sure?"

Not certain what Dr. Weir was implying, Teyla twisted her full lips in a mild frown, "As sure as I can be when attempting to predict the thoughts of Wraith."

"He showed no signs," Weir pressed, "No hints. No indication at all that he was aware of your—"

"Ah!" Closing her eyes, Teyla nodded, finally understanding, "That he was aware of my gift." She smiled ruefully and recalled the encounter, examining the brief exchange in detail… "No. He gave no sign of noticing it."

It was Dr. Weir's turn to frown, "You believe his curiosity was genuine."

"Yes." Before Weir could ask her to explain, Teyla elaborated, "Of all the expedition members who were present during his capture, I am the only one he has not seen on a regular basis. Under those circumstances, his curiosity is justified."

"I see." Elizabeth's frown changed to a relieved smile, "Thank you, Teyla. I wished to make certain we haven't lost your telepathic advantage."

"An understandable worry, Dr. Weir. Rest assured, I am confident that he remains unaware of my ability to sense his presence."

"For now."

Teyla Emmagen considered Elizabeth's ominous addendum with a feeling of uneasy premonition. "Yes," she conceded eventually. "For now…"

* * *

**Meanwhile…**

After scaling the sand cliff at the rotting lab's entrance, (an endeavor that was neither easy nor clean), Major Sheppard and the security escort traded Steve's space guppies to the Fish Finders for Zelenka's camera, and then headed eagerly for the showers, (minus the presence of their excited tour guide). They had a few delays. Steve insisted on sticking his head out the first 'Sergeant Bates-approved' hole in the outer wall they passed. And while he, "cleansed the oppressive fog from his sinuses," the Fish Finders peppered him with questions about Atlantis's new pets.

"They must be placed in freshwater," the wraith hissed, (his face was turned away, still poking halfway out the hole), "And they must be kept separate for a time. Until the weak one has finished regenerating."

Shifting her grip on her heavy burden, Dr. Moore, looked at the limp, wheezing creature in her arms interestedly, "Why is that?"

Steve's olive eyes slid to the blond Marine Biologist incuriously, "Its water must be changed more frequently. And the stronger may accidentally injure it, once its strength has recovered."

"Makes sense…"

Breaking off his resentful eyeing of the wraith's coat, (Steve had leapt agily ONTO the sand cliff and was therefore the only one NOT caked with grit from the knees down), Major Sheppard shot the armored catfish Dr. Kovskii was cradling a disbelieving stare. "Ya mean that thing's supposed to be even STRONGER than it is?"

Wind whipped away the multi-tonal resonance of the captive's voice as he pushed his pale face fully into the cracked wall once more. "I believe I just said that. Its vigor is greatly reduced from what it should be…"

Greatly reduced?! "It almost knocked me over just by swimming past me!"

A dismissive snort, "Then be grateful you are not all wet."

"What do they eat?" Dr. Moore asked.

Leather creaked as Steve altered his stance slightly. The ivory waterfall of his hair swayed between his shoulders as he took and released a deep breath before answering. "Anything and everything organic. With a few exceptions."

"They're basically living compost heaps," Sheppard quipped.

"Interesting…" With the pair of cream cheese containers tucked carefully under one arm, Dr. Sheckle had leaned towards Moore and was softly touching the wheezing space guppy's nearest fin. She grinned as the orangey-brown membrane fanned and fluttered in response. "How do we know if they're hungry?"

"They will attempt to eat or leave their containment cells."

"And will they succeed?"

Another snort. "That depends on the materials used to confine them."

"In other words, we should stuff 'em in steel lock boxes," Sheppard interjected.

The wraith withdrew from the air-giving crack just enough to shoot Major Sheppard a dirty look. "Such an environment would not be beneficial to their mental health." As if punctuating his assertion, the wheezing guppy moaned mournfully.

Dr. Sheckle drew back in surprise.

"I think you should stop touching it, Ma'am," Sergeant Bates warned.

The one in Dr. Kovskii's arms let out a quavering wail in answer, and Steve slipped down from the drying sand-drift he'd been perched on and paced to the edge of his escort's perimeter. Looming over the marines, he peered at the noisy creatures intently. Like before, first one, then the other, quieted under his gaze.

"Okay," Sheppard frowned, "Now I KNOW you're talking to them."

Dr. Kovskii startled, "Wait. These are TALKING fish?"

"Their intelligence is limited," Steve murmured, still peering, "They cannot talk like you or I, but they possess rudimentary psychic abilities—"

The Major grinned. Psychic space fish. Carson was gonna have a field day!

"—Primitive communication is therefore possible."

"Telepathic communication, you mean," Dr. Sheckle clarified. She looked meaningfully at Dr. Moore, "That doesn't help us humans interact with them."

Moore turned towards the wraith inquiringly, "Will this be a problem?"

The oval pupils darted to her consideringly. "No… They are obedient and peaceful organisms, designed to be handled." Hissing softly, Steve cocked his head and flicked his narrowed eyes among the Fish Finders and their now-quiet burdens. "However, they must be trained to accept humans as caretakers."

"Training?" Private Sheere scoffed, (the young marine was still miffed at the space guppies for startling him), "How do you train a fish?"

"More importantly," interrupted Sheppard, "Why do we need to?"

The wraith blinked at his captor condescendingly, "Would you prefer they attempt to consume the fingers of the subordinates feeding them?"

Sergeant Bates glowered accusingly, "You just said they were peaceful. Designed to be handled."

Expelling a chuff, Steve rolled his eyes in disgust, "They are designed to be handled by my kind. We are far more resilient than you."

"And you can say, 'No! Bad fish!' telepathically," Sheppard added.

"Yesss…"

"So how DO we train them?" Dr. Moore pressed.

The wraith's attention snapped back to the three expectant scientists. "By handling them frequently until they exhibit acceptable behavior." He indicated the weak one with a delicate finger wave. "For that one, maintaining physical contact throughout the desalination process will likely suffice." His olive gaze darted to Dr. Kovskii, "For the other, you may have to exercise more…" a thoughtful chuff and sharp head tilt.

"More what?" Kovskii asked when he didn't continue.

"Creativity…" Steve finished.

"And what," Sheppard interjected warily, "does that mean?"

The pale face turned towards him, suddenly a picture of toothily feigned innocence. "I do not know, Major Sheppard. I am not an animal trainer."

Right… The Major eyed the prisoner with exaggerated skepticism, clearly conveying his lack of satisfaction with that answer.

Steve blinked innocently, "Did I not just say they must exercise creativity?" Chuffing softly, he tilted his head the other way, "I can hardly be expected to predict the products of Human thought processes under such circumstances."

Cute. Very cute. Sheppard raised an unamused eyebrow, (to which Steve narrowed his eyes smugly in response), and then turned to Bates. "I think this 'Q & A''s over, Sergeant. Let's move out."

"Wait," Dr. Moore called, "Is there anything else we should know?"

Not looking at her, Steve swung to face the corridor, silently supporting his captor's desire to continue. "Keep them in close proximity to each other," he instructed. "If they become separated by too much distance, they will become distressed."

"Distressed?" Dr. Sheckle echoed, "How will we tell—"

"They'll start wailing," Sheppard added impatiently, remembering how the big one had cried when they tried taking it out alone. He jerked his thumb at the waiting alien, "And you don't want that, 'cause he won't be available to calm them down."

Dr.'s Moore and Kovskii quickly stepped closer to each other.

"Okay!" Sheppard announced, "Showers, here we come."

The security escort gladly lurched into motion and once more began heading out of the flooded lab's 'messy' section. The Fish Finders trailed after them for a while before splitting off in the sand-free corridors to gather help in constructing a 'suitable environment' for the space guppies. They passed the stasis room, and the door with the extra security crystal slot, and threaded through the zigzagging hallways of the meticulously catalogued support labs without delay. Then, on their way up the, (in Sheppard's opinion), ridiculously long stairwell providing access to the building, the doggedly trudging procession almost literally ran into McKay.

"Whoa!" Rounding a bend, Rodney jerked his pellmell descent to a halt and stumbled quickly out of Major Sheppard's way. "Way to give a guy a heart attack!"

"Sorry, Rodney," Sheppard wasn't sorry in the slightest, "You should try keeping to the right next time."

McKay brushed the advice off, "The left's a shorter distance to trave—" He squeaked in dismay as the Major squeezed by without stopping, "Wait! Where're you going!?"

"The showers," Sheppard called over his shoulder, "Where else?"

"But what about—" intimidated by the inexhorable, synchronized marching of Sergeant Bates and the security escort, McKay hastily backed into the landing's far corner, "What about the Wraith stuff!"

"Zelenka's still down there. He can tell ya everything ya need to know."

McKay scoffed disbelievingly, "Somehow I doubt that." He hugged his datapad protectively as the marines started filing past, "What if I need to ask Stev—"

"He'll be in the showers, too."

"But—"

"Nice pants, Dr. McKay," Sergeant Bates commented dryly on his way by.

"THANK you!" McKay grinned. He'd somehow one-upped Dr. Zelenka's peagreen, thigh-high boots by finding a pair of chest-high, rubber fishing waders. "I thought it was a clever idea mysel—" the physicist's face fell as he caught sight of Private Sheere's wry smirk. "Oh, yes," McKay snarked, "Rubber pants are humorous. Ha, ha. Very funny. At least I won't come out soaked to the bone. Unlike you!"

Sheppard's voiced echoed down the stairs, "Now, McKay. Play nice."

"Tell that to your goon squad!"

"I take offense at that remark," Private Laris muttered as she passed.

Huffing, Rodney rolled his eyes and snapped an insincere, "Sorry."

Steve stepped onto the landing. The clatter of booted footfalls instantly dominated the stark confines of the stairwell as Dr. McKay fell silent. He fidgeted nervously as the dark form of the wraith stalked to the next flight of stairs without acknowledging his presence. The quiet continued as the rear guard followed. Then a relieved sighed echoed up the steps behind the escort.

The sigh was quickly replaced by a loud, "Ew! You guys stink!"

"That's why we're going to the showers," Sheppard yelled.

McKay didn't seem to notice, "It's like something died behind a fridge! And—My God! You left a trail of sand! You're still leaving it—Do you realize how long it'll take to clean this up? Who's gonna do that!?" With a squeak of dismay, McKay scurried to the bottom of the flight he'd just come down and yelled up, "Don't you DARE track this stuff into the transporters! Do you hear?! Don't you DARE DO THAT!!!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Sheppard muttered, grinning.

"Did you HEAR THAT?! SHEPPARD!" With an exasperated exclamation of disgust, Dr. McKay's voice trailed into distant incoherency.

Fifteen minutes later, Major Sheppard relished a flash of malicious glee as he stepped into the transporter closet WITHOUT brushing his pants off first.

He stepped out of it, into Atlantis's central tower, with the glee significantly reduced by Private Laris's prediction of Dr. Weir's reaction to the mess.

"Maybe it won't get spread about too much," he murmured, unconvincingly.

"We can hope for that, Sir."

Oh, well. At least sweeping up trails of fishy grit would be an amusing, temporary alternative to spud peeling duty…

The transporter swhooshed open again, regurgitating Steve and Sergeant Bates's half of the security escort, and the procession was off again. There was a noticeably eager spring in everyone's step as they neared the showers. Recognizing his surroundings from previous visits, Steve broke off his haughty scrutinizing of the corridors and began crowding the heels of the leading marines, urging them to move faster. Not objecting to the notion, Sheppard gladly quickened their pace.

When they reached the ancient archway leading to their goal, the wraith disappeared into the Men's branch without complaint and, following a protocol that'd been established after he first requested a bath from Carson two weeks earlier, stalked straight to the farthest shower fixture and pulled the curtain over it.

Major Sheppard tapped his radio as the sound of running water filled the room. "Lieutenant Ford, this is Sheppard."

"Major Sheppard, this is Ford. Go ahead, Sir."

"We're ready for that relief escort I ordered."

In a waiting room, a couple levels away, Lieutenant Ford glanced at his companions and nodded. "Right away, Sir. We'll be there in a few."

"Much obliged, Lieutenant. Sheppard out." The radio crackled off, and the Major turned to Sergeant Bates. "Everyone ready out here?"

The Security Chief regarded him seriously, "Yes, Sir. You yell, we run."

"Invade's more like it," Sheppard muttered, handing off his P-90.

Bates accepted the weapon with a stoic deadpan and watched as his superior headed to the closest shower fixture. "However you want to put it, Sir."

"I like invade. Invading showers is funnier."

Chin dipping in sardonic agreement, Sergeant Bates watched Sheppard pull his own curtain, and then stationed himself by one corner of it. Other marines adopted similar guard positions, and the women moved to cover the entrance.

The plan was this: Sheppard and the wraith get clean first while waiting for Ford's fresh escort. Then, while everyone else is showering, Sheppard deposits said wraith in his cell and goes to report to Dr. Weir. The only tricky part of operation, 'Get Everyone Clean as Fast as Humanly, (or Wraithily), Possible,' was the design of the Ancient public showers. It was one long room, with only opaque curtains separating different personnel areas, and half those areas had to be walked through in order to reach ones deeper in. While the versatility this provided was a plus, safety-wise it wasn't exactly ideal for having a captive and his captor shower together.

Sheppard eyed the stretching expanse of drain-dotted floor that separated him from Steve's curtain. Privacy central it was definitely not, but the drapery-maze DID allow for easy manipulation of the space. And the distance was more than adequate for grabbing his pistol stunner out of the soap-dish and getting off a few shots.

Still…

He would've much preferred solidly tiled wall partitions…

Oh, well. What they had was what they had. Shrugging his shoulders philosophically, Major Sheppard switched the water on and began to strip. Steam billowed up around him, clinging to the ceiling and adding to the growing cloud already drifting from the wraith's area. Sand and rotting fish goo raced across the white slope beneath his feet, releasing last gasp spurts of stink before disappearing down the drains. Sighing in satisfaction as the hot water returned life to his icy toes, Sheppard tossed his filthy boots aside and grabbed a blue-splashed bottle from a nearby shelf.

The smell of chemical cleanser added to the humid mix as he lathered up.

Barely seconds after the first bubbles formed, a soft snort came from the distant curtain. "What is that scent called?"

Steve's multi-tonal voice resonated oddly in the enclosed space, and Sheppard frowned, needing a moment to interpret the new sound. He wiped bubbles from his forehead and sniffed. "Which scent?"

"The cleansing agent you are using."

Rinsing his face, Sheppard looked more closely at the generic bottle he was holding. Unsurprisingly, it smelled nothing like its name. "It's marked 'Rain.'"

The pattering splatter of something being squeegeed was followed by a disgusted chuff. "Its designation bears no resemblance to its actual attributes."

The Major grinned, spitting water, "Yeah, that's typical of these things."

A short silence. Then… "Which others do you possess?"

Suspecting where this was going, Sheppard glanced over at the shelf and poked the cluster of bottles, spinning them in place with hollow, plastic clatters. "Let's see. I've got 'Spring Air,' 'Midnight Breeze,' 'Evergreen,' an—Oo! These look good," he edged his tone with excited sarcasm, "'Tutti Fruiti' and 'Winter Wonderland.'"

More silence. "Arbitrary labels tell me nothing, Major."

"Right." The wraith couldn't read English. Duh. Sheppard thought a second. Deciding to try a quick test, he squeezed drops of each onto his palms, mushed them up, and waved them in Steve's direction. He heard a long inhalation.

"I possess these as well." The sounds of activity in Steve's area ceased a moment. "Are they the only options available to us?"

Picturing the wraith waiting on his answer with eerie, stock-still seriousness, Sheppard flicked his gaze to a metallic purple bottle that glimmered wetly behind the others. "There's non-scented stuff. I could roll you some, if you want."

A soft hiss, "That will not be necessary. I have tried the scentless already. It is of inferior quality, inadequate to the task."

Really? The Major's eyebrow lifted in amusement. So it wasn't McKay's imagination.

"…And it is not truly scentless."

Sheppard lathered up again, "No surprise there. What's wrong with the others?"

The curtain at the far end of the room swished, and Steve gave an insistent snort as the pattern of falling water changed. "Their excessive chemical aroma is repugnant."

Ouch. "They're not THAT bad…"

"Are there no other cleansers available?" Steve pressed.

"None that I'm aware of." (Not that he kept track of Atlantis's shampoo inventory.) Raising his voice, the Major looked towards the shadowy blob that was Sergeant Bates. "Hey, Bates. We got any other soaps hanging around?"

"What type of soaps do you want, Sir?"

"Ones that smell different from what we've got already."

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, Sir. Lots of soap to choose from on Atlantis." The dry humor in the dark-eyed Security Chief's voice was audible as he deliberately played dense. "Shampoo? Hand soap? Dish soap? …Laundry soap?"

Sheppard peered closer at his 'Rain' bottle, "Says here, it's 'body cleanser'…"

"Body cleanser?" Shaking his head with mild exasperation, Sergeant Bates looked at the ceiling long-sufferingly, "I don't recall any other 'body cleanser' flavors, Sir."

"Whatcha see is what we got?"

"That's usually how it works."

"Sorry, Steve. No new scents he—"

Private Laris's voice echoed from the Men's branch entrance, interrupting him. "There're a few more, Sir."

"There are?" Not expecting that, Sheppard blinked in surprise, then thrust his face under water as bubbles tried to slip into his eyes. "Why haven't I seen 'em before?"

"They're in the Women's showers. Should I fetch them, Sir?"

Couldn't hurt. "Sure, why not." Now he was curious…

Laris's jogging footsteps faded into the distance. When they returned a minute later, a chorus of muted exclamations heralded the arrival of her offerings.

"What the Hell is this?"

"Where'd you get these?"

"I didn't know we had this stuff."

"Get that away from me. It smells like a damn Jolly Rancher."

Relieving Laris of her burden, Sergeant Bates opened the curtain a crack and handed the bottles to Major Sheppard, one by one. The nude military commander tucked them under his arm, reading the labels with an increasing feeling of having been cheated.

"'Mint Julip,' 'Organic Rose Garden,' 'Organic Citrus Blossom'…" He snapped an accusing stare at the pearly beige curtain as a hot pink bottle poked through. He'd never seen ANY of these before! "How'd you get these, Private?" quickly he rephrased that, "Correction, how'd the WOMEN'S showers get these?"

In the hallway, Laris shrugged, "They were deemed 'unmanly' by the guys on duty when we unpacked."

Grabbing the pink bottle, Sheppard made a mental note to check the duty roster records. The names WERE a bit froo-froo, but still! "This is quality stuff, here."

"That's why none of the women present at the time protested."

"Sneaky…" he rolled the hot pink cylinder across his palm, "What've we got this time? Cherry Jubilee? Nope. 'Watermelon.'"

"Don't bother with that, Sir," Laris called from her reclaimed post, "It's nasty."

Sheppard waved it's lime-green top under his nose and made a face. It did indeed smell like a Jolly Rancher. "Why'd you bring it, then?"

"In the hopes that it won't come back."

"I see… Good job, Soldier. These'll do nicely." Squishing the four bottles securely against his side, Sheppard grabbed his pistol stunner and approached the far curtain cautiously. "Here ya go, Steve." He crouched, lifted a corner of the filmy material, and rolled the fancy body cleansers through, glimpsing the wraith's coat lying, meticulously folded, by a drain as he did so. "Four new scents to try." Keeping the stunner trained on the thin wall, he retreated slowly to his own shower, making unnecessary noise to let the wraith know he was moving away.

Nothing sinster happened. The curtain swayed as soft clacks indicated the bottles were being retrieved, and barely audible chuffs hinted at their review.

"This one is acceptable," Steve announced.

A delicate floral aroma permeated the air, filling the room with the light smell of freshly cut flowers as the sounds of washing resumed.

Relaxing, Major Sheppard put the pistol stunner back in his soap-dish and continued cleaning himself. "Glad ya like it."

A dismissive chuff, "It is the least offensive of the available options."

Whatever. Sheppard rolled his eyes and concentrated on scouring the stubbornly clinging fish stink off his legs and feet. The stuff did NOT want to come off…

But, eventually, it did. With LOTS of scrubbing. By the time it was gone, the room had filled, floor to ceiling, with steam, Lieutenant Ford had switched places with Sergeant Bates, and the old escort had gratefully departed. Finally satisfied that he was cleaner than he'd been BEFORE he entered the flooded lab, Major Sheppard rinsed the 'Rain' out of his hair and turned his water off. The sounds of washing continued to emanate from the wraith's corner as he toweled dry. "You almost done, Steve?"

An absent hiss permeated the steam. "Nearly, Major. I will let you know."

"'Cause Ford brought some dry clothes for ya."

"That will not be necessary," Steve sounded amused, "The drying apparatus in this unit is adequate for such purposes, and my own garments will be clean shortly."

"You're doing LAUNDRY over there?"

Water splattered against the curtain in response.

No wonder he was taking so long. Sheppard eyed the narrow alcove by his shower fixture. Each washing space had one. But though the science teams HAD identified them as drying machines, he hadn't used them yet. They just seemed… sketchy somehow. High tech sci-fi devices were cool, but he preferred good old fashioned, fluffy towels to full-body blow dryers. …Or whatever they did…

Grabbing the clean clothes he'd stashed in the alcove before the tour, Sheppard got dressed as he waited for the wraith to finish. It was a long wait. He gave Ford a rundown of their gooey findings in the hangar, and tightened his bootlaces, all the while looking towards the wraith's curtain consideringly. Steve had exhibited a rapid and extreme improvement in mood since leaving the lab… There was a question he'd been itching to ask the wraith, and now might be a good time for getting answers.

"Why'd ya do it, Steve?" Sheppard nonchalantly quipped.

The squeegeeing and scrubbing sounds paused. "Do what, Major Sheppard?"

"You know," he explained casually, "Going on ahead. Running off without waiting for permission."

No response. The scrubing resumed, and Steve was silent so long, Sheppard resigned himself to never attaining enlightenment.

Oh, well. It'd been a nice thought, anyway—

The water abruptly switched off. "Tell me, Major Sheppard," Steve's voice echoed loudly in the resulting quiet, "What would you have done had I not?"

That was easy. He'd have put the wraith back in his cell and scheduled an investigation later. "We'll never know, now. Will we?"

A haughty snort, "I will tell you. You would have searched the area at your leisure. And upon doing so, you would have sent for me."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow as the low hum of the wraith's drying alcove kicked in. "So you were trying to save time. That's very considerate of you." Especially considering he'd lost an opportunity to bargain for new concessions.

"In the meantime, Major," Steve continued as if he hadn't spoken, "the few organisms and viable devices still surviving would've continued to deteriorate."

Ahhh. There was the real reason. "You were worried stuff would die."

The imprint of a hand appeared on the distant curtain as Steve hissed softly, "Given the potential benefits at stake, I could not risk leaving their survival in the hands of scientists demonstrably ignorant of the time sensitive nature of such things."

Sheppard resisted a chuckle, "We're not THAT ignorant."

"Are you not?" The thin material concealing the wraith rippled and swayed in a manner that suggested he was pacing behind it. "Can you guarantee the room would've been searched immediately if I had acted otherwise?"

The Major paused. "Maybe not immediately," he admitted.

"Today, then? Tonight?" Steve hissed and the evidence of his pacing stilled once more. "Tomorrow perhaps? What about next week? The odor was quite unpleasant. And there's still so much work to be done excavating more hospitable areas."

"All right, all right," Sheppard groused, "You've made your point." Standing up, he pulled his curtain open, nodded to Lieutenant Ford, and leaned against a dry wall, crossing his arms lackadaisically. "You know, you could've informed us of the 'time sensitive nature' of the project. We ARE open to constructive input."

A stretching silence. Then… "Yes. I could have."

The smug tone spoke volumes on the wraith's opinion of that option, and Sheppard mentally amended the comment with, 'But it was more fun this way.'

"But you CHOSE not to," he said out loud.

The dryer clicked off. The slippery rustling of cloth replaced it, followed by the hollow clicking of clasps and harsh flap of stiff leather. "Suspect my motives as you like, Major." Steve chuffed absently, "My actions will ultimately be proven beneficial."

"Oh. Well," Sheppard loaded the mockery on, "in THAT case it's all right."

A derisive snort. Silver tool-tips emerged from the curtain's edge, and the flexible material rushed open with a metallic Schinnng!, revealing the wraith, fully clothed. Steve turned towards his captors, neck bowing sideways. He'd taken out the thin ponytail that usually held his bangs out of his eyes and was running his gloved fingers through his wet hair, like a comb. An actual brush, (planted in the showers earlier), lay, discarded, on a pile of rumpled towels behind him.

Retrieving his stunner from the soap-dish, Sheppard eyed the wraith with concealed amusement. "Not a fan of human grooming implements?"

Steve ignored the question. Still finger-combing, he crossed the expanse of condensation-slicked floor that separated him from the fresh escort. His oval-pupiled eyes, which remained fixed on Major Sheppard thoughout the approach, narrowed sedately as he stopped. "I am prepared to return to my cell."

Sheppard studied the deceptively amiable smile that accompanied the calm statement. Just to be annoying, he studied the rest of prisoner, too. The wraith's black, spiderwebbed pants, lower coat, pointy shoes, and left bracer were spotless, completely devoid of any remnants of the muck that'd coated them. They looked as fresh and pressed as when he'd first been captured. (Minus the blood stains, of course.)

He feigned being impressed, "You really WERE doing laundry."

A patient, olive blink. Steve, tilting his face the other way, continued combing.

"Well… If you're sure you're ready." Turning to Lieutenant Ford without waiting for a response, Sheppard nodded, "Let's get a move on. Shower time's over."

They moved out. The journey to the cell level proceeded without incident, and within a matter of minutes, the Major was deactivating the forcefield and watching with careful detachment as the Zest-Fully-Clean wraith peered curiously through the gliding door. Testing the air, the flower-scented alien paused on the threshold until the bars finished opening, then stalked inside as the security escort released him.

He circled the flat, blackish-silver rectangle that'd been placed in his cage while he was gone warily.

"It's a computer," Sheppard offered, after the door slid closed.

Steve's olive eyes snapped to his captor in a sidelong, querilous glance.

"It's loaded with Carson's results from your brain experiment," he explained. "The good Doctor hasn't finished analyzing it yet, of course. But he said to tell you he's open to any insights you can provide." Sheppard shrugged and leaned against the horizontal bars earnestly. "See, Steve. We keep our promises here on Atlantis."

The wraith's lips twitched with a noncommittal chuff.

"Oh!" he pushed back as if just remembering something, "There's some video footage of the flooded lab on it, too. It's a bit old, but… Meh. Better than nothing."

Not moving, Steve blinked with a barely audible snort.

"Have fun, Steve." Grinning flippantly, Sheppard headed for the cell's exit alcove, clapping Ford on the shoulder as he passed. "He's in your hands, Lieutenant."

"Yes, Sir. We're on top of it."

"Good to hear."

Watching Sheppard from the narrowed corners of his eyes, Steve stood motionlessly as he mounted the stairs beyond the alcove. His unreadable gaze stayed fixed on the exit until the Major's boots disappeared from view. Then he circled the laptop once more and dropped into a crouch to examine it.

* * *

**A few minutes later…**

Dr. Weir looked up from the folder she was contemplating filing as Major Sheppard entered her office. Her eyebrows lifted at the jaunty spring in his step.

"I take it, it went well down there?"

He flopped lazily into the chair across from her. "You know how it is. There's something… Uplifting about being clean after getting dumped in a cess pit."

"I see." Elizabeth set the folder down and leaned forward as Sheppard propped his arms on her desk. "And how did our prisoner take it?"

"Which part? The being clean? Or the getting dumped in a cess pit?"

"Both."

"Well," Sheppard began, "he seemed to enjoy the first part. Ya know, the stuff we actually HAD planned. And he WANTED to go in the cess pit, at first…" He grinned at Weir mischieviously, "But then I made him play 'Point and Tell' in it."

She pursed her lips thoughtfully, "I'm guessing that didn't go over so well?"

"Hated every second," he confirmed. "Got pretty testy about it, too. But he's happy now that he's clean again. And ya know what? Deep down, I think he secretly enjoyed some of it."

Dr. Weir stared at her military commander skeptically.

Sheppard turned serious, "Okay, maybe not. But he DID understand the importance of doing it. AND agreed with it."

"You're sure about that?"

He nodded. "Positive. Believe me. If he hadn't, I wouldn't have been able to budge him. He HATED the smell in there." Pausing, Sheppard frowned a bit, "From some of the things he said earlier, I think it might've partially blinded him…"

Elizabeth's eyes widened mildly in surprise, "Blinded?"

"Yeah," Sheppard wiggled his fingers spookily, "He was going on about a 'fog' metaphor during the tour. And not being able to study things properly."

"Carson's preliminary report did indicate his olfactory receptors may be significantly more sensitive than ours," she murmured.

"Yeah. He sniffs things a lot, too."

"I noticed."

Catching her amused look, Major Sheppard shrugged a bit, "I only mention it 'cause if I'm right, stink bombs might be something useful to look into."

Elizabeth stared at him again.

"I'm thinking diversionary tactics," he elaborated.

"I don't know, Major," she frowned. "From what you just said, it sounds more like stink bombs will only make them madder."

"Yeah, well… That's why it needs looking into first."

"I see…" propping her elbows on her desk, Elizabeth tapped her chin, "Did you discover anything new after your last check in?"

"Not really. Steve had a little tantrum. We resolved it." He lowered his voice, quickly adding, "Then we raided the women's showers for organic bodywashes."

Elizabeth jerked back, shocked, "What?!"

"Nothing," Sheppard cleared his throat, swallowing the urge to reply, 'Yeah, It was a real bonding experience.' Instead he quipped, "Dart's a lost cause, though."

Dr. Weir eyed him suspiciously, but didn't press the issue. "Really…?"

"Yeah. See, it's like this…" He started explaining about the black goo and the abrupt resolution of Steve's tantrum.

* * *

Down by the holding cell, Lieutenant Ford craned his neck and took a step to the left, trying to see around the prisoner's light-bathed shoulders…

When it didn't work, he frowned uneasily.

He looked to the left and right, glancing at his fellow guards. They returned his worried gaze from various points along the shadowed walls, acknowledging him with uneasy glances of their own, and a young marine stationed by the alcove's entrance, nodded confirmingly, as if to say, 'No, it's NOT your imagination.'

Lieutenant Ford nodded back, steeling himself to leave his post.

Something was wrong. The prisoner was acting… Oddly. Not BAD oddly, but just… ODD oddly…

After Major Sheppard left, he'd occupied himself with the laptop. Examining it from every angle. Opening and booting it up. Toying with the touch pad and scrolling through the files it contained. THAT Ford had expected. He'd predicted it, even.

But then, a minute ago, the wraith had stopped.

…

He was just sitting there, facing it. There was nothing playing on its screen. No video, or brain scan playback… The wraith's blue-washed hair and black-clad back were perfectly still, but Ford had definitely heard the folds of his heavy coat shift several times, despite the apparent lack of movement. Couple that with little scraping sounds intermittently issuing from the cell, and the Lieutenant was forced to grudgingly conclude the wraith was fiddling with something in his lap.

…

There shouldn't have BEEN anything else for him to fiddle with.

Ho, boy…

Taking a deep breath, Lieutenant Ford nodded one last time to solidify his resolve and strode purposefully to the bars.

Steve continued doing… whatever he was doing…

"Uh, Steve…?"

No response.

Frown deepening, Ford moved along the bars until he could see past the wraith's shoulders. His shifting point of view slowly revealed Steve's knees. Then the corner of coat panel resting in his lap. A flash of yellow obscured by damp ivory.

Then the wraith's hands…

…

Baffled, and incredibly confused, Lieutenant Ford stopped and stared a moment.

Uh… Why?

Steve's olive irises swept to the young marine leisurely, before dismissively flicking back to their task.

Swallowing a consternated accusation, Ford shot his fellow guards a 'Who the Hell knows' look and reached up to tap his radio.

'Why' was NOT his department…

* * *

Up in Dr. Weir's office, the expedition leader clasped her hands behind her, turning away from her view of the Gateroom with amusement. "I see… And did you learn anything else new about our guest?" she inquired, "Aside from his aversion to strong odors and an apparent affinity for fish…?"

"Sure! I learned lots of things."

Pushing lazily to his feet, Sheppard hooked his thumbs in his pockets and joined her at the floor-length window. He looked down at the Stargate and began listing seriously, "For one, I don't understand Wraith humor."

"Not terribly surprising there…"

"And two. His preference for organic extends beyond technology."

Elizabeth pursed her lips thoughtfully, "I take it that's where the shower raiding comes in?"

Sheppard strategically declined confirming that. "Three, those holes on his cheeks act as some sort of built in life-detector—"

"That should tweak Carson's interest…"

"—And four," Sheppard continued, recalling Steve's response when Zelenka asked what the space guppies were, "The Wraith language is unpronounceable."

Taken aback, Dr. Weir stopped him. "Wait. Are you saying he actually spoke Wraith to you?"

"Yup. Told us what the space guppies are called." The Major grimaced distastefully, "Sounded like a cat hocking up a hairball."

"Not designed for human vocal chords, I take it?"

"Not by a long shot." Sheppard rocked back on his heels, thinking about whether he'd learned anything else arbitrarily useless but interesting. He brightened. "Oh, yeah!" he wagged a finger at Weir emphatically, "He doesn't like touching Death."

She raised an eyebrow… "Ironic coming from a species that sucks the life out—"

"—Of things with his hands. Yeah, I mentioned that."

"And how did he respond?"

Sheppard shrugged, "He claimed that wasn't what he'd meant."

Elizabeth hooked her hair behind her ears, returned to her desk, and tapped the file. It was a psychology report. "Sounds like you ran into one of Heightmeyer's language barriers. Carson hit a few too. Maybe I should keep this out longer…"

"Probably not a bad idea." Not keen on discussing alien language psychology at the moment, Sheppard cast about for a less intense subject. "Speaking of Carson. We gave Steve the laptop the infirmary prepared. That should occupy him for a while."

"Yes," Dr. Weir grinned, "Dr. Beckett mentioned that was ready. He—" Cutting off, she frowned suddenly. "That reminds me. Carson's analyzing the hard-drive's neural filaments. He thinks there may be a problem with—"

The Major's radio crackled.

"Lieutenant Ford to Major Sheppard."

Gesturing for him to answer, Dr. Weir waited patiently while he tapped his earpiece. Sheppard did so with a frown, knowing the Lieutenant was still on wraith-guarding duty. "This is Sheppard. Go ahead, Ford."

Lieutenant Ford's reply sounded both hesitant and weirded out.

"Uh, Sir?… I think I found Carson's missing Xex tube…"

* * *

Thank you for reading! Please review! Again, things I'm working on specifically are: 1. Maintaining a Season 1 feel in the flashback chapters. 2. Keeping the regulars in character.

As we're getting further into the plot, I'll now add a three to this list.

3. Making the new and different, (and/or bizarre), things that happen seem realistic and believable.


	18. Chapter 17: Hiiissssssss…

I just want to say, for the record, that writer's block sucks. And the most annoying TYPE of writer's block you can possibly get, (in this author's humble opinion), is the kind where you know exactly what you want to happen but can't get it to come out right to save your life!

That's what happened in this chapter. I spent way too much time trying and failing to write this, and I apologize for its relatively short length.

(I was originally planning to get it up within a week of Excursion: Part Four.)

On an up note, I DID manage to make a decent dent in my to-read pile, however, AND I attended a wedding where I got to reconnect with a bunch of long-lost college friends.

Yay college friends! ;P

(Now I just have to do the whole 'move to a new state' and 'find a new job' thing...)

But you don't need to hear about that yet. (Though I fully intend to use it as an excuse if I get inexcusably delayed again...)

And so, without further ado...

Let's take a trip back to long-neglected Present!

Yay for the Present! (Thought I forgot about it, didn't you?)

Happy reading!

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.

**Chapter Seventeen: Hiiissssssss…**

(translation: From Clarity Comes Resolve…)

_**Present**_

Deep within the personal levels of the drifting hive, within a single, unpretentiously equipped room, a pair of green, slit-pupiled eyes blinked. They drifted unseeingly as their owner's thoughts returned from speculation to the 'Here and Now.' Then, after a long, silently considering moment, they snapped abruptly into focus.

Ivory lashes dipped as the wraith blinked once more.

The obstacles he faced were great, but not insurmountable. His chosen path was straightforward, though not simple, and assuming the correct preparations were made…

The successful attainment of his goal seemed assured.

A soft hiss of anticipation whispered among the chamber's organic walls. The ghostly glow of Contentment, an ingrained response to the imminent satisfaction of Priority, brushed tantalizingly across his mind as imagination solidified the prediction. He would succeed. He would survive to experience the reality of his success, and that reality would overshadow this ephemeral taste a thousand fold… No, a HUNDRED thousand! In comparison, it would pale feebly. He must not forget, never underestimate—The rewards were—are—Remember—

He cut off, reining the reckless rush of excitement in with a rebuking snort. Dwelling on the future in this fashion would do more harm than good. There were still preparations to make. Preparations that required the utmost care. Indulging in such fantasies would only engender sporadic rushes of chemically induced overconfidence, and he could not afford to have his work ruined by momentary carelessness.

Even the smallest error could prove fatal.

Flexing his fingers, the wraith waited impatiently for the heady wisps of premature euphoria to cease. His translucent claws scratched idle patterns across the spongy surface of his sleeping pallet as he calmed his mind…

…Inhale. Exhale…

The tangible warmth of the organic cushion beneath his feeding palm soon overwhelmed and replaced the illusory glow teasing his psyche.

…Inhale. Exhale…

The intoxicating agitation vanished. Waiting several moments to make sure it would not return, he took a final, deep breath, which he then released with composed deliberateness…

…There…

Now… was the time to begin.

The wraith's gaze slid from the blue-black section of wall that he'd been unconsciously staring at while he planned, and swept sideways, to his quarter's darkened computer terminal. His most important preparations would be made there.

But to make them… HE must be there as well…

That required moving.

…Had he recovered the neccessary strength for that?

Ivory swayed against his cheeks and across his back as his face turned purposely towards the silent station. No flush of dizziness accompanied the motion. No disorientation, or sudden weakness… Loosening his grip on the edge of his sleeping pallet, he leaned forward from his sitting position slightly.

…

Uneven weight distribution didn't seem to be a problem.

He narrowed his eyes, cautiously unbalancing his posture further.

A low gasp escaped the wraith's lips as a tremor spasmed in his diaphragm and shuddered down his spine. Snarling in silent frustration, he ignored the warning sensation and tentatively lifted his hands. First one, and then the other. He carefullly shifted his feet across the smooth chitin floor, methodically testing his body's reaction to further support removal. A pervasive tiredness assailed him with the effort.

But no muscles buckled…

The wraith paused, slim fingers pressing firmly against the black cushion in preparation for movement. He was not recovered fully. Not yet. The lingering symptoms of mental shock were still dissipating, and becoming active now could potentially extend them. Possibly even indefinitely…

But he could not afford delay. His preparations needed to be complete before his next work shift, and much of this rest period had already passed.

He must begin. Despite the risk exertion posed.

With a decisive hiss, the wraith quickly pushed himself to his feet.

Fatigue crushed down like a swamping wave. A pervasive trembling that set breath hitching in his lungs and mired his limbs. He swayed. Then locked his knees, casting a blind arm back in case he failed to remain erect.

This continued weakness was maddening!

Willing his balance to stabilize, he snarled impotently and closed his eyes, touching the fingers of his non-feeding hand to his forehead to anchor himself. The living thrum of his personal quarter's impartial silence engulfed his awareness soothingly… Encouraging relaxation. Smoothing frustration away…

The wraith's slim form held perfectly still. His leather coat's fitted planes tightened comfortably with each calming breath. Tailored straps pulled familiarly…

…Inhale. Exhale…

The trembling eased slightly…

…Inhale. Exhale…

…

…The fatigue did not.

Dropping from his forehead, slender fingers trailed down a blackly glittering strap that criss-crossed the wraith's chest, meditatively tracing the textured material in an effort to expel weakness through sensory distraction. One from his shoulder… Then three thick, horizontal bands, cinching the heavy leather at his waist…

Bereft of the sleeping pallet's heat, he was suddenly aware of a chill tingle spreading through the open lips of his feeding slit. Its sensitive bristles quivered.

…Inhale. Exhale…

More quivering. The chill deepened, flirting with discomfort.

…

A distasteful solution… But a solution, nonetheless.

He focused on the sensation. Extended the bristles further. Tasted the air…

"Hissssssssssssss…………"

Hunger licked at the edges of his thoughts, singeing fatigue's iron grip like burning flames melting ore. He stoked the reflexive fire, feeling the pervasive exhaustion's hold loosen. Stability trickled slowly into his posture…

Hunger!…! The flames flared, suddenly ablaze and grasping, threatening to scorch reason. Demanding satiation. Sustenance! Hunger—

"HIIISSSSSSS!!!!!"

Ruthlessly, he stomped the blazing desire out, quashing the destructive urge before it spiraled rampantly out of control. He needed to remain calm. Rational. Sustenance would come later. He must wait. Have patience.

For his plan to work, everything must happen in proper sequence.

…

…Calm…

…Hissing a soft inhalation, the wraith relaxed his snarl to a mild grimace as the unpleasant emotion faded into a residual, nagging twinge of discomfort. He hated—Truly HATED—testing his self-control that way. Summoning Hunger purposely went against every instinct he possessed. Selecting it like a tool… It was unnatural!

HE was unnatural…

A distasteful shiver rippled down the wraith's spine as discomfort slithered amongst his thoughts. THAT must be dealt with too. And quickly.

No longer feeling in danger of collapse, he swung his palm forward from its wary position behind him and opened his eyes, watching the anchoring bristles retreat into his feeding slit. Cold invaded as the exposed fibers entwined and refurled, pulling in the exposed flesh that lined the orifice's edges. The dusky pink slash of interior tissue thinned, then vanished into a dark, tightly closed stripe… As the warmth of his hand began eroding the penetrating chill, the wraith slowly and deliberately drew a pale fingertip down his upturned palm, firmly tracing the telltale line.

The finger's blunt claw scraped along the lips of the feeding slit after it, showering the heat trail with a deluge of tickling sparks that quickly set to work unknotting the Hunger residue disturbing his mind.

The wraith's green eyes narrowed with pleasure. A simple trick, yes. But a reliably effective one. Completely natural. No distasteful side effects… Enjoyable, even. Yet too short-lived to prove a distraction.

He massaged the closed feeding organ a moment longer, (taking care not to needlessly release enzyme). Then, once it'd become used to the sensation, turned his attention to the rib-cage framework of his personal quarter's door.

It was time.

…

Without moving from his spot by the sleeping pallet, he slipped a tendril of thought into the organic wall and focused on its internal control panel. Securely locking it against operation by another, he stretched deeper, weaving his mind among the living cables until he reached the second interface. He disarmed the hidden device's self-destruct triggers with deft caresses to its telepathic sensors, and a second later it confirmed his mental signature with a low, unexpectedly rich thrum.

Ivory snaked across inky black as he craned his neck curiously, pausing to consider the telepathic signal. It seemed very strong, but he knew it wasn't…

Quickly he checked its settings. He frowned. They were as he'd left them. Which meant it was his perception of the signal that had changed.

An uneasy thrill ran through him at the idea. Time had apparently dulled his sensitivity more than he realized. A slow, imperceptible erosion…

Which begged the mildly unnerving question of, 'What else had changed?'

…

He thrust the issue aside. He would find the answers shortly, of that he was certain. The important thing was not to let the resurgence affect him unduly.

Turning slowly towards his personal data station, he instructed the hidden interface to proceed with identity verification, and then stepped cautiously away from his sleeping pallet, heading for the section of wall that'd begun tearing itself open. His muscles protested the short walk to the corner. After barely two paces they were shivering like he'd just completed a long trek on a high gravity planet.

The wraith stubbornly ignored the weakness. He concentrated on the wet ripping sounds of the wall's internal mechanisms. Visualized its covert system of tendons and joints flexing within the chitin. Rupturing membranes and cracking shell…

He braced his non-feeding hand beside the hole as it finished lengthening and reached past the torn aperture's glistening, fluid-beaded lips, firmly grasping the concealed gel-pad. The translucent substance squished beneath his palm, quickly sliding into his fingertip's sensitive enzyme hook sheaths. The cool, invasive pressure stimulated the opening of his feeding slit, and the resulting, slippery intrusion that followed elicited a violent shiver that almost buckled his knees.

Hissing reflexively, he leaned against the wall and clamped down on the pad, piercing it deeply with his extending injection hooks. The fatigue must NOT return…

His forehead brushed blue-black chitin…

As the external gel-layer immobilized the wraith's feeding hand, he pressed his glittering shoulder into the clear fluid trickling from the hole's edge and willed his strength to hold. The weakness was only an illusion. A deception of the senses stemming from the mental shock of the recent neurochemical shift. Surely he could shrug the remainder off after waiting the worst of it out—

The gel rippled within his feeding organ, and he closed his eyes, determinedly ignoring the unsettling sensation of the internal scan. He would succeed. His plan was fool proof. He'd analyzed the situation from every angle. And he had tools at his disposal greater than many, perhaps all, of his higher brothers. Assuming the preparations were finished in time, he would survive.

Priority WOULD be satisfied.

Priority…

The scan finished, and the blue lights of potential self-destruct snapped on, bathing his wrist with an azure wash that turned his skin white. Feeling the feathery tingle of focusing energy beams, the wraith straightened his arm so its odd angle wouldn't disrupt their measurements. While the telltale prickle slowly crept up his forearm, he turned his thoughts inward, deliberately seeking—

…trapped…

The panicky emotions fluttered in their mental cage. The wraith examined them like he would an exotic beast, approaching carefully, and with hyper-vigilance. Then, summoning the instinctual drive that he'd repressed earlier in the interests of rational planning, he cautiously and deftly loosened the barriers containing them…

Trapped.

…The disturbing panic trickled out, diffusing into his thoughts, inflaming the muted urgency to DO something—ANYthing—about it. Fix it. Vanquish it. Make it GO AWAY. He must stop it—NEEDED to STOP it!

Priority demanded he acquiesce!

"Hiissssssss!"

He WAS acquiescing! Executing his plan would fulfill this! Forcing the trapped panic back into its cage, the wraith repaired its prison and turned his attention to the other. To Priority. He laid his plan out before it, paving the path to his goal with the exaggerated reverence of a worshipper laying sacred totems on an altar. His desire to reach that goal grew. Bolstering his resolve. Fueling determination.

…Illuminating the path with a steely clarity that would stave encroaching weakness off more effectively than Hunger's fleeting burn ever could…

Like a switch being flicked, the intense glow of Purpose suffused the wraith's being and began chasing the unwanted trembling from his limbs. He sighed with pleasure. NOW he was truly ready. With the familiar drive suffusing him—

The blue lights changed to orange recognition, confirming the pattern of epidermal irregularities they'd mapped on his forearm.

—the wraith could accomplish anything.

The second compartment slid open. Green eyes snapped open with it, quickly flicking to the secret hollow in the bone-like structural support to receive its interior scanner's micro-burst retinal scan. They passed, (as expected), and the tingling sensation of the energy beams ceased. The rippling gel withdrew from the wraith's feeding slit in a slippery, palm-tickling rush, and the touchpad released his feeding hand.

Retracting his injection hooks, the wraith let go of the gel, reached into the compartment, and pulled out the portable data storage devices. His nose wrinkled delicately at the scent of dried enzyme that wafted from them, (evidence of his earlier impatience). Such distasteful behavior. Not to mention the waste…

He glanced into the shadowy recess. No signs of excessive heat damage or unwanted growth—Not that it mattered, really… His pale face spun away from the hiding place in a whirl of flowing ivory. It would not be needed much longer.

Reveling in his newly-regained ease of motion, the black-coated wraith stepped smoothly towards his personal terminal and sank confidently to his knees, inserting the smaller device into the computer's concealed base port. He regained his feet with equal confidence, plagued only by a slight tremor, and assumed his normal working posture. Back comfortably straight, hands lightly resting on twin gel controls…

The familiar boot-up hum cut off prematurely, and he activated the frozen console's mental interface, letting the hijack program rain its progress across its membranous screen in a deluge of scrolling symbols and glyphs. He followed the isolating modifications with serene patience, and when the telepathic beep came, signaling the console had completed the initial boot-up, he probed it expectantly.

Finding the mainframe's access points safely nonexistent, (meaning the data station itself was ALSO temporarily nonexistent), the wraith clicked the larger drive into an external port and accessed its contents immediately, WITHOUT indulging in his usual moment of anxiety and amusement ridden hesitation. There was no point in contemplating the treason inherent in its contents. Not when the path to his goal stretched so clearly before him. Not when it was the only acceptable option…

The time for hesitancy was past.

Slender fingers caressed the claw-like curves of the drive's sleek casing, tracing the black shape with unconscious gentleness as code began pouring down the screen. Such dangerous code… A treasure—A tool beyond imagining.

Its purpose glittered in his mind's eye, resonating with his own glowing Purpose.

It was inevitable, really. Deep down he'd always known he would use it. Deep down he'd felt the necessity. Sensed it. Denied it. Raged against it. But deep down…

Deep down, he'd known its time would come sooner, rather than later.

A low hiss whispered through the quiet room. Buoyed by a rising tide of resolve, the wraith slid his hand from the drive and replaced it on the empty gel control. Code flew across the screen as he brought up the changes he'd made earlier. They were extensive. Bold. Blatantly duplicitous in nature and amazingly detailed. Almost disturbingly so… Focused on the mental signals accompanying the visual data, the wraith marveled at his desperation's thoroughness. What he'd begun in a frenzied attempt to calm his mind was now invaluable. A solid base for what must come after.

Ivory rustled, slithering across smooth leather as he stretched his neck. His pale fingers flexed on the controls.

Where to begin?

…

There.

Unseen, the symbols flowing across the screen paused. This was the first correction. A necessary step for preparing the code to be used outside simulation.

The wraith's eyes narrowed with pleasure as he made the change. Its unusable state had been symbolic, mostly. An expression of his commitment to this hive. A reminder of his loyalty. A crutch to prop his flagging devotion amidst the crushing torrent of a pounding sea of confusing desires and torturous impulses.

A tether to rational wisdom that he now snapped with equally committed ease.

Translucent teeth bared in an ironic grin as the wraith switched to the simulator and adjusted it to be compatible with the change. A second stream of data joined the first and he ran them together, side by side. Deftly his mind darted from one to the other, matching alerations as necessary. Keeping the programs in harmony.

What he intended was not treason. But it was easy. So easy…

With a thought, a third stream appeared, slicing the display down the middle. Base code imported from the hijack program. It required a few changes too.

…Exhilaratingly easy…

Delicate furrows wrinkled the wraith's brow. This would be seen as treason by his brothers. The moment they discovered it—IF they discovered it. Though slimly remote, there was always a chance that they would not. IF he did this correctly.

If not…

A dismissive snort echoed against his personal quarter's organic walls.

Such speculation was NOT productive.

He threw himself into his preparations with renewed vigor. They were not treason. They were survival. His integrity would endure… If he willed it.

And he willed it. He was WRAITH!

Any brother in his position would understand.

His mind flew between the three programs, juggling their intricacies with practiced, yet astonishing, ease. More than just his perceptions had dulled, it seemed. Edit, compile, simulate… If he hadn't hidden it, would he have realized sooner?

Whatever the case, the resurgence of ability was welcome…

Edit, compile. Edit, recompile, simulate.

Stealth and speed were his allies. He would need both to survive what he had planned. Speed to complete his modifications in time. And stealth…

…

Edit, compile, simulate.

He was not a traitor.

…

…He was not. Edit, recompile, simulate.

Edite, compile. Edit recompile…

He was Not a Traitor.

…

Stealth…

Closing his eyes, the wraith summoned up the flagging glow of Purpose and shook his doubts away with a cleansing, vigorous, "HIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSS!"

—He was Wraith and he had Purpose—

Edit.

—He saw goals with Clarity—

Compile.

—And approached with Resolve—

Simulate.

THAT was the way of Priority. THAT was the way of Wraith.

…

HE was Wraith. Nothing could change that.

Edit, compile. Edit, recompile, simulate.

He was Wraith…

Edit, edit, edit.

Green eyes, slit-pupiled and intense, slipped open, fastening on the living computer screen with determined focus.

He was not a traitor. But sometimes loyalty to one's hive required a treasonous face. For the sake of his hive. For his Queen. For his life…

…

He would put on such a face.

Edit, compile. Check, check, simulate. Smoky glyphs and symbols streamed across the screen as the wraith single-mindedly threw himself into his modifications. Their dim glow caught in his hair, playing across his face like dappled moonlight. Silence settled within the small room. Watchful. Patient. He stood perfectly still, motionless except for the furious activity of his mind.

Occasionally… he blinked.

* * *

Thank you for reading! Please review! Again, things I'm working on specifically are: 1. Maintaining a Season 1 feel in the flashback chapters. 2. Keeping the regulars in character.

As we're getting further into the plot, I'll now add a three to this list.

3. Making the new and different, (and/or bizarre), things that happen seem realistic and believable.


	19. Oh, NO! an Author's Note!

**Author's Note**

Greetings loyal readers! It is with great excitement, (and a healthy dose of guilty regret), that I must inform you of a change in my occupational circumstances. I have joined Momentum Theatre Troupe for the summer. (I'm the Stage Manager.) Momentum is Super COOL! The director has converted a truck into a mobile stage, (I mean that literally. The truck IS the stage. It opens up and everything!). We'll be taking it across country, performing in parks and outdoor venues across the United States. And we're doing three shows: The Leader, (a short political piece), the Jabberwocky, (a visual movement piece inspired by Through the Looking Glass), and—

********Drum roll please!************

The Tempest! (By Shakespeare)

It's going to be awesome. Trap doors. Balconies. Lights. Sound. AND I get to PAINT the TRUCK ITSELF! Talk about a BIG CANVAS!

…

But I digress.

You're wondering what this means for The Pegasus Tango. I want to make this perfectly clear—

**I am not abandoning this story!**

The next mini-arc is already planned out, (has been for a while). It will be called, "Tactical Error," and much humor and wraithy-goodness can be expected to ensue within.

**However!**

Having said that, I am insanely busy. I'm having lots of fun with an awesome group of people, but I have almost NO FREE TIME WHATSOEVER. By way of an example: I meant to write this author's note two weeks ago, when I took the job, but this is the first opportunity I've had to do it. *looks sheepish*

I will attempt to keep writing when I have time, but I can't make any promises. Given my current frantic schedule, the next update probably won't occur until mid-to-late August, (after Momentum finishes its tour).

In the meantime, I invite everyone to visit the theater troupe's website, (where pictures of the awesomely cool stage/truck are posted). The site is:

theatretruck (just add 3 w's and a .com)

On a more relevant note, I've updated my profile with my personal website. (YES! I actually have one now!) It's still under construction, but The Pegasus Tango will eventually be available there too, and I'm thinking of putting some original stories on it as well. And maybe a web-comic or something…

Thank you SO MUCH for bearing with the crazy detour I've unexpectedly taken. (It was completely unplanned. Wholey and ENTIRELY spontaneous.) Know that you, my readers, and Steve remain solidly rooted in my thoughts, despite the fantastical journey I have embarked upon. (My GOD! The Shakespeare's rubbing off already!) And please, if it so moves you, come see the show! I will happily greet anyone who says they're looking for Meloku after the performances are over.

Adieu—

No, wait. I have recently been introduced to a wonderful film about a crazy guy named Zissou. I shall say instead—

Bon Voyage!


	20. Chapter 18: Tactical Error: Part 1

Sorry. That's the theme for this update.

Sorry, sorry, sorry.

Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry.

SORRY!

I am so terribly, horribly, horrendously, tremendously, stupendously, and gargantuanly sorry about the length of time it took for me to do this update! I won't bend your eyes with my excuses, which are numerous and inordinately inexcusable, for I feel incredibly awful about how long this has taken.

And the worst part is, this isn't this chapter's final version yet!

I'm sorry! There's some editing I still want to do. But since it's been such a struggle getting this chapter done, I want to put it out now, as is. I need to feel like I've accomplished something. A more cohesive version, (which may or may not differ slightly on the plot level), will appear soon. Hopefully before 'Tactical Error: Part Two' comes out.

In the meantime, I'd like to put out a call for advice. I was away from this story for so long, (and on more than one occasion), that I'm worried about losing the 'feel' of it. If you notice any parts of this chapter where the 'spirit of the story,' (so to speak), seems forced or lacking, please don't hesitate to review. I'm very worried about this. I've experienced the issue before, and I've managed to overcome it, but input is extremely helpful to the process.

Reviewers, I thank you in advance for your insights.

And now, without further ado...

Happy Reading!

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.

**Chapter Eighteen: Tactical Error – Part One**

_**3 years, 47 and ½ weeks earlier**_

"What do you mean, 'We can't get the data out?'"

"I mean EXACTLY what I said! We can't get at it!"

Sitting forward in his chair, Major Sheppard stared at Dr. McKay's angrily fidgeting form with vexation. "Well, WHY NOT?"

The aggravated scientist's fingers tapped furiously on his armrests. "'Cause it hasn't got any ACCESS points! That's why!"

Since when had a paltry detail like THAT ever stopped Atlantis's resident computer expert? The Major shrugged, "So? MAKE a couple!"

McKay rolled his eyes and scoffed, "It doesn't work like that!"

Seeing Sheppard frown, Dr. Beckett clasped his hands on the debriefing room's table and leaned forward. He was already beginning to regret bringing this particular subject up. "Rodney's right. The neural filaments the drive expelled were rooted outside its shell. Maintained by an outer source somewhere else—"

"Somewhere else inside the computer terminal," Sheppard clarified.

"—Aye. Without those filaments, it's got no way o' communicatin'."

Perplexed, the Major pursed his lips in frustration and leaned back, "Not even with the 'Wraith Talker' LSDs?" (He'd just recently heard about those…)

"NO!" Dr. McKay cut Carson off before he could even finish opening his mouth. "The life-signs detectors read and interpret data that's traveling through the terminals' working memory and active circuits. Stuff that's already been extracted via neural filament. We're missing the part that—"

"Extracts the stuff," Sheppard finished. "I get it—"

"—AND that translates the neural signals into viable data."

The Major blinked. Paused in disbelief. "Wait. We're missing TWO things now?" How did THAT happen?

"Actually," Carson intervened, seeing McKay roll his eyes with vexation, "we ARE only missin' one. The organic structure tha' produces the filaments is almost certainly also in charge o' compilin' and translatin' the signals they convey."

"So… One structure. Multiple functions."

"Aye."

Sheppard nodded thoughtfully. That made sense. Still… There had to be SOMETHING they could do. "Can't we replicate this structure somehow?"

Dr. McKay laughed sarcastically, "Yeah. Sure!" Ceasing his furious finger tapping, he crossed his arms petulantly and glared at the Major from across the table, "Assuming, of course, that within the next five days Atlantis manages to experience massive, groundbreaking advances in half a dozen scientific fields simultaneously—"

"So, no replicating."

McKay rolled his eyes again, "And that's not counting the BIOTECH breakthroughs required!"

Frowning at Rodney's excessive sarcasm disapprovingly, Dr. Beckett apologetically added, "Or the neurology expertise."

"Okaayy," conceded Sheppard. "What about mimicking?"

A scornful snort met that suggestion. "Even if I knew WHAT to mimic, I've got no way of getting it INTO the hard-drive's shell without killing it. There's NO ACCESS POINT—"

"Again with the access points—"

"YES, again with the ACCESS POINTS!" eyeing Sheppard darkly, McKay pulled a snarky face. The Major returned it half-heartedly. "Every single plan, contingency, and contingency for a contingency that I came up with," continued McKay, "hinged on the single, unassuming assumption that the hard-drive would HAVE one!" His disgruntled voice rose to an upset squeak, "How was I supposed to know it didn't?"

The Major shrugged, "Surely access points aren't THAT essential—"

A disbelieving laugh, "YES! YES they ARE!" Rodney's hands flapped incredulously, "All Earth based—AND Ancient, I might add—technology revolves around access points! That an organic base can throw something so BASIC out the window like this is, is," his jaw worked in silent agitation a moment.

"It's LUDICROUS!" he finally finished.

Sheppard raised an eyebrow, "That's funny. I was SURE you were about to go with infuriating."

McKay glared, decidedly unimpressed, "Well, Hardy Har Har. Aren't you the stand up comic today."

"Just thought I'd lighten the mood a bit." Not wanting to push his luck by needling the frustrated scientist further, the Major turned his attention to Dr. Beckett. "What about you? Has the infirmary got a contingency for this?"

Already prepared for this question, Carson sadly shook his head, "Ah'm sorry, Major. It's just not possible now. Our current level o' understandin' o' Wraith technology is too limited. We simply don' know wha' to grow—"

"Or how to grow it," McKay sullenly added.

"Aye. Tha' too."

Negativity much? Major Sheppard leaned forward in his chair and drummed his fingers on the table. He regarded Dr. Beckett seriously, "So there's no way—No way whatsoever—that we're gonna get data outta that hard-drive before we hafta ditch it?"

The Chief Surgeon met his questioning gaze gravely, "Not unless somethin' drastic changes between now an' then. No."

"And by 'drastic,' you mean…"

"Ah mean the Chemistry Department succeedin' in findin' a way to maintain it indefinitely."

Sheppard grimaced. Succeeding in maintaining the hard-drive indefinitely, (while a lot more likely now that they had tons of nutrient rich goo at their disposal), in no way implied succeeding in extracting data from it. "So we've hit a roadblock."

"So it would seem…"

At the subdued murmur, all eyes in the room swept to Dr. Weir. She was standing in one corner, staring intently at the flat screen monitor that Peter Grodin had obligingly mounted on the wall. The thin LCD was, as yet, conspicuously dark.

Its lack of activity had not stopped her from studying it for several minutes, however. Nor did it stop everyone else's attention from following her gaze to it.

Pensive silence stretched in the debriefing room, smothering its five occupants with the growing import of the darkened screen's presence. A stifling heaviness gathered…

Finally, unable to stand the pregnant, meaning-laden tension any longer, Dr. McKay shot to his feet, blurting, "That wraith KNEW this would happen!"

Dr. Weir glanced at him without turning.

"He KNEW! That's why he agreed to salvage it so easily!"

"Of course he knew!" Major Sheppard snapped, "Sit back down."

"No!" Rodney's knuckles smacked impotently on the table as he leaned over it, sending a clacking tremor through the forgotten data-pad lying before him. "He KNEW, and he never had ANY intention of EVER letting us get data out of it!"

Frowning, Sheppard spun his chair, rounding on McKay with a knuckle smack of his own. "We've got no reason to think that—"

"We have EVERY reason to think that! He's been playing us from the start!"

"Let it go, Mckay—"

"I will NOT let it go!" Rodney squeaked accusingly, "Why're you making excuses for him?"

"Dr. McKay has a point, Sir." Atlantis's hitherto silent Security Chief swiveled his chair about and gave his military commander a hard stare. "The prisoner had no reason to think we'd adhere to our side of the deal. If the hard-drive's data is inaccessible, he risked nothing by agreeing to salvage it."

Not impressed, (having already considered and dismissed that particular argument), Major Sheppard met Sergeant Bates's penetrating gaze with an unyielding glare. "Yeah, well he ALSO had no reason to think we'd be as short on supplies as we are." McKay opened his mouth, and Sheppard flung a hand up, preempting his confused spluttering. "YES, he was counting on us getting stuck," he conceded. "But he was ALSO counting on the new bargaining chip he'd get when we realized we needed his help again." He looked at Dr. Weir, expecting her support. "Mark my words. Steve's gonna be tickled to death to learn that chip's still in play." The wraith had undoubtedly given up on it the instant he learned Atlantis's nutrients were limited…

Crossing her arms, the expedition leader took a pace back from the still-dark screen and turned, studying her ranking military officer unreadably.

Not expecting the neutral reticence, Sheppard raised an eyebrow and swiveled his chair a bit.

"With all due respect, Sir," Bates interjected into the lengthening quiet, "All that supposed 'bargaining chip' is is a second chance for the prisoner to sabotage it."

Dr. McKay grinned triumphantly, "Hah! What he said!"

"We've no way of knowing," continued Bates, "whether he intended to sabotage the data from the start. For all we know, bringing the drive to Atlantis may have hindered his plans to destroy it."

"Ah don't buy tha'," Beckett was shaking his head, "Steve worked ridiculously hard to save tha' drive for us. If 'e wanted it dead, 'e could've killed it purposely."

Sergeant Bates regarded the Scotsman skeptically.

Dr. Beckett shrugged. "It's true. Between natural failure an' murder, ah'd 'ave never known the difference."

Beside him, McKay snorted scornfully and finally sat down, "We're talking about murdering computers now. How lovely."

"It's a livin' organism. The terms appropriate, Rodney."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really—"

"Knowing he'd have a second chance to sabotage it in the future," interrupted Bates, "the prisoner may have decided to keep it around precisely so it could be used as a 'bargaining chip.' We can't discount that possibility, Sir."

"Yeah, well we can't ACT like it's true either," Sheppard shot back.

"With all due respect—"

The Major raised his voice, "We can't stop negotiations because we THINK he might be playing us. It could undermine everything if he's not—"

"I'm not saying we should stop, Sir. I'm sayin—"

"No, you're saying we should treat him with overt suspicion. The end result's the same, Sergeant." Sheppard leaned forward in annoyance, "If he thinks we have no intention of trusting him, why the HELL should he trust us?"

Sergeant Bates glowered, "I'm just saying, Sir—"

"That's enough, people." Dr. Weir's no-nonsense tone stopped the budding argument in its tracks. She fixed Bates and Major Sheppard with warning stares. "We could debate our prisoner's intentions and subterfuges 'til the cows some home," her tone was clipped, bursting with dissatisfaction, "And ultimately, we'd accomplish nothing. His actions are the only windows into his thoughts we have." Her eyebrows lifted pointedly, determinedly forestalling comments. "At any rate," she continued emphatically, "interpreting those actions is not the purpose of this meeting."

Daring her wrath, Major Sheppard shrugged flippantly, "But we may as well TALK about it. Seeing as we're not all here yet."

"Are you sure about that, Major?"

Pretty darn sure. Teyla wasn't expected, 'cause she was still visiting the mainland, but Aiden… "We're kinda missing a key witness."

Weir's brown eyes flicked past him, to a previously unoccupied section of the table. Repressing a flicker of unease, Sheppard obediently followed her gaze.

He blinked in surprise, "Well, I'll be…"

Liuetenant Ford had managed to sneak into the room unnoticed during Bates's and Sheppard's argument. Under Dr. Weir's scrutiny, the young marine grinned uncomfortably and gave the assembled group a half-hearted wave. "Uh… Hi, everyone."

Raising an eyebrow at Ford, Sheppard glanced at Weir and tactfully acknowledged his defeat, "I stand corrected."

"Correction noted." All business-like, Dr. Weir uncrossed her arms and positioned herself directly in front of the darkened screen. She slid her focus to everyone in turn, silently impressing upon them the seriousness of the matter.

As she did so, Sheppard belatedly realized something.

Elizabeth was furious.

Extremely furious.

And, contrary to popular belief… Steve wasn't the only source of that fury. Not by a LONG shot.

Aw, Hell. They were about to get it.

He inwardly steeled himself for the barrage of disapproval.

"You all know why we're here," Dr. Weir began. "You all know what the problem is, so I'm going to get straight to the point." Across the table, Dr. McKay fidgeted uneasily as her words were punctuated with sardonically accusing eyebrow lifts. "Our prisoner, on THREE separate occasions, has smuggled items into his cell." Major Sheppard grimaced. "He has hidden those items from his guards." It was Sergeant Bates's turn to frown. "AND he has successfully broken Dr. Beckett's off-world quarantine protocols." Carson winced despite his lack of direct involvement, obviously wishing he were somewhere else.

Infusing her voice with command, Elizabeth stepped closer. "Now. What I want to know is WHY this happened. HOW it happened. AND, most importantly, WHAT is being done to ensure it NEVER happens again."

Behind her, the dormant display flickered to life, showing real-time security images from the prisoner's cell. An instant later the camera zoomed in, focusing on the incriminating foreign objects that rested on the floor by Steve's knee.

Already familiar with the scene, Dr. Weir didn't bother looking at it.

"Who wants to start?"

**Two uncomfortable hours later…**

Why?

…

…THAT was the question beating around incessantly in Sheppard's brain.

Why, why, why?

…

WHY!

…

He understood the timing. That much was obvious. Clear as day. Hell, it was EASY to interpret compared to some of the wraith's OTHER actions. It was the SUBSTANCE of the revelation that baffled him.

"Wait up!"

Grimacing in renewed disbelief, Major Sheppard resisted the urge to whack the banister as he plunged into the next stairwell, studiously ignoring Dr. McKay's high-pitched demand for him to slow. He didn't wanna hear more complaints about the scientist's mandatory presence. OR more unwarranted 'I told ya so's. He'd had enough of those during the first half of this journey, and he had no intention of slowing down until he was good and ready. I.e., when they reached the holding cell.

"Hellooo! I'm trying to keep up here!"

"Don't let me stop you!" the Major called back.

An annoyed huff, "I'm not exactly a daily jogger, you know!"

"Believe me, I know," Sheppard muttered. He grimaced again.

Of all the things Steve could've chosen…

…Why that?

It was utterly arbitrary. Needlessly complicated.

Why THAT?…

What could the wraith POSSIBLY be getting out of it beyond the fleeting satisfaction of a momentary sense of whimsical defiance?

It was ridiculous!

Or audacious.

…

Did Wraith even practice whimsy?

Feeling a dull twinge in his temple, Major Sheppard shook his head and thrust the pointless question from his mind. He was NOT going there.

The labored sounds of Rodney's winded gasping echoed against the walls behind him as the Major started down another flight.

"Scientist—" Gasp! "—experiencing respiratory—" Gasp! "—failure back here!"

"Well," Sheppard tossed back, unsympathetically, "maybe you should do a little more breathing and a little less talking."

"Humorous—" Gasp! "—Very humorous."

"I thought so…"

McKay's voice dripped sarcasm, "Your consideration—" Gasp! "—is noted."

"Always glad to be appreciated," Sheppard called.

Half a flight back, Dr. McKay's protests subsided into sullenly breathless panting.

Bereft of distraction, the Major's thoughts turned once more to the aggravating question of their prisoner's current expression of defiance.

…Why THAT!…

What was the significance?

WAS there even significance?

…

He wasn't getting anywhere.

…

GAHH! Maddening alien!

It was with a profound sense of relief, (and a fleeting hope of impending illumination), that Major Sheppard finally skipped to a halt on the last landing separating them from the prisoner's cell. He rolled his shoulders a few times and composed himself as he waited for Dr. McKay to catch up.

Beyond this door were answers. Explanations, even.

…

Not necessarily understandable ones. OR, in all likelihood, readily accessible ones. But the answers DID exist.

And Sheppard intended to ask for them.

"Okay, we stick to the plan. I interrogate him first—"

FLAWHUMP! McKay flopped against the wall by the door, propping himself against the ancient metal in a melodramatic display of exhaustion. His hands flapped half-heartedly at the door. "I'll just stay here," he panted, "Wait for your signal." One hand's fingers fluttered weakly at his mouth, "Catch my breath."

Major Sheppard stared at him.

"What?" McKay wheezed, "That's the plan, right?"

Sheppard raised a silently unimpressed eyebrow. Then he spun on his heel, waved his hand past the narrow crystal control box, and strode purposely into the revealed stairwell. McKay's voice puffed weakly into the dimly-lit space after him.

"Oh. Fine! I get it. We can't all be bodybuilders, you kn—"

Anything further was cut off as the doors whooshed closed again.

The Major continued down the steps without pause, already focused on the target of Atlantis's collective displeasure. Hitting the floor, he swung round the corner and passed into the dark alcove, acknowledging the first layer of guards with a curt nod. His determined eyes fixed on the light spilling in from the far doorway.

The wraith, an indistinct, black blotch in the bright cell, grew in size and definition as Major Sheppard strode deliberately towards the holding area. Steve was sitting on the floor. Facing AWAY from the door. (No surprise there.) His long legs crooked languidly beneath him, and his white hair painted his back with blue-tinted, eerily-still highlights. (Again, no surprise.) An irregular clacking echoed hollowly through the room as the Major approached. That was new.

Apparently, 'I'm engrossed in my recently-acquired computer,' was the latest tactic in the wraith's, 'I'm ignoring you,' game.

…

Like with McKay's exaggerated panting, Major Sheppard wasn't impressed.

Walking to the cell, he stopped less than a foot away, in a spot as close to the prisoner as he could get. He wasn't taking any crap today.

"Hi, Steve."

He stared steady daggers at the motionless back. The wraith could hear he wasn't walking around to face him. That message was clear. Sheppard was in control, and the wraith would move to face HIM for a change. If Steve understood the gravity of his situation, AND knew what was good for him, he'd comply.

If not, he wasn't half as smart as Atlantis had previously given him credit for.

Major Sheppard waited.

Hollow clacking echoed in the holding cell, punctuated by minute clicks as Steve's translucent claws scraped the keys. An image floated on the laptop's screen, blue and green splotches brightly rotating within a black window. With a tap on the touchpad's button, it was replaced by another.

Repressing a flicker of curiosity, Sheppard waited a bit longer.

More images cycled through. Steve's lack of response stretched, testing the boundaries of what might be excused as 'wrapping a few things up.' Another image appeared and stayed. The wraith was approaching the limits of his patience. Much more and he'd have to devise a few deliberate, NON-cruel-and-unusual ways to make Steve's life miserable. Sergeant Bates would happily assist.

Clack. The first image returned.

Major Sheppard held perfectly still, willing the wraith to acknowledge him. The black-coated alien remained motionless, seemingly riveted to the screen. Then… Just when Sheppard was starting to lose faith in the wraith's intelligence…

Steve hit the spacebar. An entire, rainbow-colored brain appeared, and the wraith's faceted epaulets glittered as he shifted slightly, finally drawing breath to speak.

"I am your death." It was an absent mutter, a begrudging, multi-tonal murmur of disinterest, as if the wraith were paying token tribute to a worn-out pleasantry. Leaning forward, Steve pressed a key-combo that froze the rotating image. Then he drew back and turned his head, dropping his hands into his lap and twisting his torso about so he could look over his shoulder at Major Sheppard comfortably. Ivory whispered as it slid across his black coat.

Steve's pale face dipped obligingly, "What do you want, Major?"

Sheppard held the olive, oval-pupiled eyes coldly for a moment, (to get the extent of his displeasure across), then flicked his stare pointedly to the conspicuously benign conglomeration of smuggled items resting on the floor by the wraith's left knee.

Expression inscrutable, Steve followed his gaze without moving.

They both stared at the contraband for a few seconds. Then the Major caught Steve's eyes again and lifted an eyebrow warningly, voice low and dangerous.

"What's with the flowers, Steve?"

**Flashback to the Emergency Meeting…**

"It's a vase of flowers, Ma'am."

In the circular debriefing room, Dr. Weir surveyed Lieutenant Ford with a distinct lack of amusement. "Oh, it is, is it?"

Unsure why his answer was wrong, given the close-up on the viewscreen and what he'd witnessed in the cell earlier, the young soldier shifted uneasily. Echoing their expedition leader's seriousness, Sergeant Bates came to his rescue.

"It's a collection of smuggled objects, Ma'am."

Eyeing the LCD with a mixture of bemusement and fading dismay, Major Sheppard silently added, 'Cleverly disguised as a vase of flowers.' 'Cause that's what it was, really. The Xex tube, glisteningly devoid of chemical residue, (no doubt it'd been rinsed thoroughly during the wraith's showers), had been weighted down with two round shells and filled to the brim with clear liquid. (Water, he fervently hoped.) The shells, which looked like they'd come from a bizarre hybrid of snails and trilobites, were nestled securely against the stem of a single sprig of tiny, suspiciously familiar, yellow flowers, WHICH Sheppard strongly suspected he'd encountered before…

Despite its solely aesthetic function, however, for the purposes of this meeting, the diminutive vase needed to be thought of in terms of its constituent parts.

Hence, 'a collection of smuggled objects.'

…

Sheppard wisely refrained from commenting on the quibbling as Dr. Weir accepted Bates's impartially presented answer with a cool nod.

"How did he get them?" she demanded.

"He smuggled them in, one at a time." The Security Chief glanced at the screen with disgust. "Each item was acquired from a different trip out of his cell."

Bothered by the fudging, Dr. McKay lifted a pair of fingers and interjected, "That's not entirely accurate. Two of the items were acquired on the same trip." Weir's lack of amusement abruptly redirected, and hurriedly he added, "And, uh, two of those three trips could be categorized, technically speaking, as, um… one…"

Weir stared. "Is that a fact?"

Rodney grimaced. "Shutting up now."

"Good." She quirked an eyebrow disapprovingly and returned to addressing the entire gathering. "The Xex tube is easy. He stole it from the infirmary while he was stabilizing the hard-drive. Does anyone know how?"

"No." Spreading his hands on the table before him, Dr. Beckett unhappily shook his head. "Ah've questioned my staff. Everyone who was on duty. No one saw anythin'." He grimaced, "The entire operation was a study in controlled chaos. After tha' tube was empty, 'e could've pocketed it anytime."

"None of the guards present noticed the theft either," Sheppard added.

Sergeant Bates nodded agreement, "He probably used everyone's distraction to cover some sleight-of-hand tricks."

Dr. Weir glanced at the viewscreen. "What about the shells?"

That was easy, too. Major Sheppard cleared his throat. "When we took Steve into the flooded lab, he kinda excavated a bunch of fish corpses from the sand banks." When Weir looked at the Major expectantly, he shrugged, grudgingly apologetic, "Woulda been simple to stuff a few pebbles or shells up his sleeves."

"Especially considering the manual dexterity the prisoner's displayed in the past."

Catching Bates's deadpan stare, Sheppard acknowledged the criticism, "Yeah… Especially considering that." The annoying part of this mess was that Atlantis had been on the lookout for Steve pocketing things. They'd counted all the beads and circuits he'd handled, etc. Unfortunately, what Sheppard HADN'T anticipated was Steve pocketing useless bits of debris. How do you predict something like that?

"Kinda makes you wonder what else he's got hidden up his sleeves," Dr. McKay muttered. He cast a querying look at Carson, who frowned worriedly.

"What about the flowers?" Weir wasn't interested in speculating at the moment.

"M1X-347," Sheppard had been waiting for that one. "Dr. Corde was handing around samples of local vegetation. Steve handled most of them." He remembered watching the wraith pass his cheeks over the sprig. Watching him go in for a second sniff… "The flowers were the last sample passed out before we discovered the base had been disturbed. I imagine…" Sheppard paused, shrugging, "he took a liking to them."

"Aye. 'E liked 'em enough to break quarantine."

"Technically he couldn't have known we had a quarantine protocol in place," interrupted Dr. McKay.

Dr. Beckett looked at the physicst in disbelief. "For a scientist, it's only natural to assume—" he cut off, sighing, and decided not to pursue the issue.

"We already knew the flowers came from M1X-347." Unimpressed with the brief digression, Dr. Weir regarded Dr. McKay critically. "I want to know how they got here. Those weren't transported in his clothes. They'd have been crushed flatter than pancakes." Everyone glanced at the screen. The twig and its tiny spray of yellow flowers were in pristine shape. Not a stem bent or broken. Not a petal wrinkled.

They looked like they could've still been on the bush.

"They've been on his person for almost 48 hours. Survived several bouts of extensive physical activity. Why aren't they mangled?"

Major Sheppard had, admittedly, been baffled by this for a while. However… There was one possibility…

"His hair, Ma'am."

The Major swiveled his chair towards Ford, surprised the young Lieutenant had jumped to the same solution.

"His hair, Lieutenant?" Dr. Weir turned to Ford skeptically.

"Yes, Ma'am." Ford nodded. "He, uh, has a high collar." He gestured to his neck, illustrating, "His hair's so long, it kinda pours over his back. That leaves a sorta space between his neck and collar. Something small could hide there. It'd be protected…" Dropping his hands, Lieutenant Ford glanced at his small audience sheepishly, "We'd never see it. Not through all that hair…"

Silence. Then…

"Oh my God," McKay blurted. "Junior flyboy's explanation actually makes sense. He could've pulled that off!"

"The idea had occurred to me," Sheppard murmured.

"That wraith's hair's a veritable curtain! Who know's what's hiding behind it?"

Sergeant Bates turned to his commander with a frown, "If that's the case, Sir, it might be a good idea to consider shearing him."

The Major startled, "Wait a sec. I don't think that's necessary yet—"

"Aye!" Carson instantly agreed, "An' ah'll tell ye now, ah won't support tha'." He turned to Weir earnestly. "The only time Steve reacted negatively to my staff while not under the influence o' those tools was when someone suggested we shave 'im. 'E won't like it. An' forcing tha' would be a serious breach o' trust."

"It doesn't have to be a shave," Bates pressed, "Just something short."

"'Ave ye ever seen a wraith with short 'air, Sergeant?"

"No, but—"

"Neither 'ave ah," Dr. Beckett frowned emphatically, "For all we know, there may be some sort o' social stigma attached. We can't just—"

"We haven't exactly been exposed to a large sample of their population, Dr.—"

"We're not shaving our wraith." Carson and Bates both snapped their mouths shut as Dr. Weir's impatient retort cut the air. She skewered Sheppard with a glare before he could jump in, "And we're not giving him a buzz cut either."

"Believe it or not, I wasn't gonna suggest that." The Major's hands lifted placatingly, "There are less extreme deterrents at my disposal."

"Good." Dr. Weir tapped the debriefing room's table and leaned over it. "He hid the flowers under his hair. I can accept that possibility. That leaves us with water."

"Assuming it IS water," muttered McKay.

Weir ignored the interruption, "How'd he smuggle water into his cell?" Lieutenant Ford shrugged and started to speak, but she hastily added, "And don't try to tell me he had that tube balancing on his neck for two days."

"I wasn't going to, Ma'am."

Sergeant Bates rested his hands on his armrests, "Obviously the water was obtained during one of his trips to the shower."

"Obviously," Sheppard echoed.

"But how'd he get it out?" Dr. Weir pressed. She gestured to the screen, "I see no cap for that tube."

Carson nodded, "Tha's 'cause we 'ave it. Dr. Morgan found tha' li'l bugger stuck in a vent this mornin'. Ah took it to inventoy myself."

"Ford knows how he did it."

All eyes snapped to the young marine. Ford in turn glanced at Major Sheppard uncertainly, still intimidated by Dr. Weir's forestalling of his last comment.

The Major raised an encouraging eyebrow. "Go ahead, Lieutenant. Tell us what you saw." Having been personally monitoring the cell when Steve revealed his contraband, Lieutenant Ford was the only one who'd seen the wraith put the vase together, and he'd come straight from guard duty to the emergency meeting. Not even Major Sheppard had heard this particular detail yet. He had high hopes for it.

"Yes, Sir." Lieutenant Ford cleared his throat. "Steve had already placed the shells in the Xex tube when I approached the cell to see what he was doing. While I watched…" An expectant hush fell over the debriefing room as he paused to fold his forearms on the table. Ford leaned over them, adopting a professional manner.

"…He squeezed the liquid out of the lining of his coat."

Everyone was silent for a moment. Then…

"He squeezed the liquid out of his coat?" Sergeant Bates repeated disbelievingly.

"Yes, Sir."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"How'd he get it in there in the first place?" McKay wondered, thoughtfully quiet. "It's not like there's a visible tear in the thing," his fingers wiggled at Ford absently, "Aside from the bullet holes, I mean…"

"No idea. I only saw the squeezing."

"He must've filled it somehow when he was in the shower," suggested Bates.

"Brilliant deduction, Mr. Holmes," McKay muttered, preoccupied, "Maybe he used the bullet holes to fill it…"

"Somehow I doubt that," Sheppard quipped.

"Ah agree," Carson added. The Scotsman turned, staring at Ford curiously, "Wha' part o' his coat did 'e squeeze it out from?"

"Bottom of the lining," Ford shrugged, "You know. The part hanging by his ankles."

"An' how did 'e extract it?"

The Lieutenant's brow furrowed pensively as he thought back. "He draped a corner across his knees. Then he kinda smoothed it with his free hand."

"An' where did it come out?"

"Trickled right out of the corner seam."

"Mighty convenient, that," Dr. Weir interjected. She caught Carson's eye, hinting, "Almost like…"

Getting her drift, Dr. Beckett nodded, "Almost like it was made to do tha'."

Ford frowned, "Made to do it?"

"Aye. Made to." Dr. Beckett raised his voice seriously, "'E's an organic technology expert. A hands-on technician. From wha' I've seen o' wraith tech., no toolkit would be complete without an emergency nutrient supply."

"Meaning…?" Weir urged.

"Meaning," Carson continued, "tha' tha' water might not really be water."

Crap. Major Sheppard mentally slapped himself for not investigating the wraith's outfit thoroughly, while across from him, the expedition leader straightened decisively.

"Get it out of his cell," Dr. Weir snapped.

"Whoa, wait a minute!" Sheppard protested, "We don't know it's not water!"

"I think there's some pretty heavy evidence contradicting the water theory, Major." Dr. Weir wasn't in the mood for entertaining leniency. She eyed her military commander frostily, "That wraith is blatantly flaunting Atlantis's security measures."

"Yes, he is," Sheppard agreed, "And I'm not saying we shouldn't eventually remove it. What I'm saying is we can't instantly whisk it away like that."

"Why not?" she demanded.

Sergeant Bates, Dr. McKay, Lieutenant Ford, and Carson all watched him, echoing her question with expectant eyes. Faced with their collective skepticism and Weir's carefully restrained fury, Major Sheppard lowered his voice seriously…

**End Flashback…**

"What's with the flowers, Steve?"

Lifting his gaze back to Sheppard's face, the wraith blinked innocently. "What do you mean, Major Sheppard?"

Major Sheppard didn't bat an eye. "You know exactly what I mean."

Still looking over his shoulder, up at his captor, the wraith cocked his head slightly. Momentary silence stretched in the dimly lit holding cell. Then…

"Ahhh… You object to their presence."

Not impressed by the knowing tone, Sheppard stared down at Steve disapprovingly. "You could say that."

"Hmmmmm…" A low hiss whispered through the sparse room as the sitting wraith studied the glaring human looming beyond the bars. With a sharp chuff, he unfolded his hands and swept smoothly to his feet. Light crackled across the cell's forcefield as he closed the distance between himself and Sheppard with a single stride and snapped to a crisply angled halt. Coat panels swaying against the barrier, Steve turned his chest aside, pressed his face close to the bars, and examined Sheppard's glowering visage intently from over a glittering black epaulet.

Not flinching at the sudden nearness, the Major endured the scrutiny without comment. When he didn't respond, Steve veered away and started walking.

Major Sheppard didn't follow.

Realizing this, the wraith stopped after a few steps and glanced back.

Sheppard stared at him.

Lips twitching in what looked suspiciously like amusement, Steve looped back towards the cell's center and stopped by the computer. Not facing the Major directly, he regarded his captor through slowly narrowing eyes and bared his teeth slightly. A low, barely audible rattle suffused the air.

"You are angry."

No, duh. Didn't exactly take a genius to figure THAT out. Sheppard raised an antagonistic eyebrow. "Took ya that long to notice, did it?"

The rattling stopped.

"Come, Major…" Dropping gracefully to a crouch, Steve retrieved the tiny vase and its controversial contents and cradled it to his chest. The liquid in the Xex tube didn't even ripple as he stood once more and glided slowly to the bars. Blinking innocently, he cocked his head and broke eye contact long enough to indicate the vase with his gaze. "Surely you do not begrudge me this?"

The multi-tonal question purred conciliatorily into the cell, and Sheppard stared at the wraith with carefully disguised disbelief. He was NOT giving their prisoner the satisfaction of an easily interpretable reaction.

"Such a harmless trifle." Steve cocked his head the other way, ivory hair whispering silkily against the bars. "Purely aesthetic in function." His olive eyes widened with deceptive guilelessness. "You remarked yourself upon the monotony of my surroundings when you first entrusted me with this device." The amber beads decorating Steve's wrist glimmered, punctuating the statement. "Surely you don't object to my desire to remedy their aesthetic failings?"

Aesthetic failings? Gimme a break! "Cut the crap, Steve." Major Sheppard kept his tone short and even. "You know what I object to."

The wraith's ungloved fingers delicately caressed the edges of the smuggled sprig's spray of yellow petals. "It is a human custom to display floral reproductive organs in this fashion," Steve continued thoughtfully. Lifting the vase, he set the Xex tube gently on the horizontal bars and peered past it, into Sheppard's face. "Does it bother you to see a member of a different species emulating the tradition?"

Tired of the charade, Major Sheppard leaned forward until his nose almost touched the forcefield. "What I 'OBJECT' to," he snapped, (the flowers loomed huge and fuzzily in his vision, partially obstructing his view of the wraith's face), "is a prisoner bringing foreign items into his cell without permission!"

Steve's oval-pupiled eyes widened challengingly, "But Major Sheppard," his smooth voice was conciliatory as he bared his teeth in a satisfied grin, "You never expressly forbade me from bringing items into my cell."

Cute. "I don't have to," growled Sheppard, "You're a prisoner. You know what that entails. No toys. No parties. No liberties that I haven't preapproved."

"Not even aesthetic modifications to my accomodatio—"

"ESPECIALLY modifications to your accommodations!"

A hissing sigh misted the metallic bar between them as Steve's voice turned smug. "You are angry at yourself for not noticing my acquisitions earlier…"

Sheppard stared warningly, "You broke Dr. Beckett's quarantine protocol."

A pleased, hissing inhalation, "It's not my fault your subordinates failed to prevent the acquisitions when they were made…"

"You also stole an item of interest from the Chemistry department."

Steve dipped his chin with a superior blink, "You cannot blame me for your security expert's failure to provide adequate precautions."

Ignoring the obvious goading, the Major held the smirk-filled gaze without wavering, "You removed items of potential interest from an excavation site."

"I cannot be held accountable for your scientists' inability to catalogue finds adequa—" Pausing suddenly, Steve swayed his face to one side of the vase and studied Major Sheppard from an unobstructed angle. His smug voice lowered conversationally. "Why are you so upset, Major? As you say, I'm a prisoner," he slid his shoulders sideways, observing Sheppard from the other side of the Xex tube now. "Surely my actions were expected. Why, it's practically an obligation."

Obligation. The Major could understand that. Were the situation reversed, he would've done something similar. And honestly, he WASN"T angry about the smuggling, per say. Heck, he was impressed by the skill it must've taken.

No. It was what the smuggling MEANT…

"What is troubling you, Major?" Steve pressed, "Is your Queen displeased?"

To Hell with it. Steve wanted a reaction? He'd get one.

"I am ANGRY," Major Sheppard snapped, "at YOU!" He glared through the bars and raised his voice, allowing the wraith to see real emotion on his face, "For betraying the trust Atlantis placed in you these last few weeks!"

Olive eyes narrowing, Steve drew himself to full height and glanced away, casually hooking hair behind his ears with gloved fingers. "Trusssst…"

"Yeah! Trust! Understand why I'm pissed now?"

A low, unreadable hiss… The wraith somehow managed to lose his toothy grin while retaining the full extent of its canary-swallowing smugness. "An interesting reason." Long fingers retrieved the Xex tube from its perch with a deft scissoring motion, and Steve eyed the smuggled flowers thoughtfully before sweeping his cheeks past them. Major Sheppard frowned at the action. "I understand, of course…"

Oh, he DID, did he? Well then, he had only himself to blame for the consequences. "Good!" Leaning forward, Sheppard grasped a horizontal bar and poured on the sarcasm, "Since we're on the subject—AND since we're being SO understanding with each other—I'm sure you'll APPRECIATE the necessity of Atlantis taking additional precautions with you. Starting now."

Silence… Steve eyed the Major suspiciously.

"Got your attention, I see." It was Sheppard's turn for smugness.

"Additional…" The wraith's voice lowered to a wary murmur. Nostrils flaring, he dipped his head to sniff the tiny flowers, "precautions…?"

Sheppard quickly feigned sadness, "You had a good thing going, Steve." He indicated the Xex tube with a short nod, "Too bad ya had to go and ruin it."

Oval-pupils fastened on his round ones accusingly. "What type of precautions?"

Experiencing a surge of petty satisfaction at the wraith's discomfort, Major Sheppard crossed his arms, "Oh, not much." He shrugged unconcernedly. "Just a standard Earth procedure, or two."

Steve hissed impatiently at the lack of elaboration, "What do they entail?"

Sheppard shrugged again, this time with an expression of casually nonchalant innocence. "A mild invasion of privacy."

Steve froze.

Amused, the Major raised an eyebrow at the indignant stillness suddenly permeating the holding cell. "What? It's nothing painful or worrisome—"

The pale face snapped towards him. Yellow petals winked brightly against the ebony leather covering the wraith's chest as Steve rounded on his captor with a disbelieving snort. "I am surrounded by your kind constantly. Watched every second of every day." Steve's olive eyes darted to his guards before flicking pointedly among various parts of the ceiling, "Every breath I take is recorded by your primitive surveillance devices. What privacy, Major, have I left to invade!"

Given the unexpected vehemence of the reaction, (especially considering he hadn't revealed specifics yet), Sheppard almost felt guilty about the coming revelation.

But only almost.

The wraith had only himself to blame for the tightened security, after all.

Straightening, he fixed Steve with a steely, no-nonsense glare and turned serious once more. "As of right now," Sheppard announced, "every time you leave this cell, you will be searched thoroughly before you reenter it. This includes hair. Boots. Clothing."

Steve's spine stiffened.

"Every inch of you will be scoured for contraband. You will be stripped of ANYTHING that might offer concealment—"

At each detail, the wraith's eyes widened further.

"—and those possessions will NOT be returned until they've been declared contraband free—"

Steve's breathing visibly accelerated.

"And FURTHERmore," Sheppard continued, "this confiscation will be performed by MY people at MY discretion. Should I give the order, YOU will not lift so much as a FINGER to assist."

Snarling furiously, Steve lunged towards the bars, "You wouldn't dare!"

Sheppard met the outraged challenge with a mockingly angerless bark. "Maybe you shoulda thought about that before ya started the sticky fingers routine!"

"HIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSS!"

Blue lightning crackled across the forcefield as Steve struck it with his ungloved hand. Black shadows and angrily reverberating hissing flooded the cell.

Sheppard wasn't impressed. Ignoring the impotent display, he went on with his speech as if nothing was happening, "If at ANY time, ANYTHING unapproved is found upon your person, I WILL order my men to perform a cavity search!"

A look of almost comical confusion flickered on Steve's face. The shadows faded slightly as he cocked his head, clearly baffled by this new term.

Resisting an inappropriate urge to laugh, the Major took the break in the tantrum as a cue to lower his voice ominously. "And believe me, Steve…" For dramatic flare, he punctuated his final words sinisterly, "You. DON'T. Want. That."

Steve's translucent teeth bared in a fresh snarl. "You are bluffing!" he spat.

Sheppard's reply was a dryly-raised eyebrow. "I'm not exactly in a position where bluffing is required, Steve."

The wraith studied his captor for several excruciating moments. The shadows thinned and winked out. Amber glimmered rhythmically on his wrist…

Idly, Sheppard noted that the 'vase' of flowers cupped in Steve's hand hadn't been damaged during the outburst. Odd… A human prisoner might've smashed the object of contention out of spite. The wraith protected it. Why?…

…

That infernal question again. The Major thrust it aside as Steve haughtily lifted his chin and drew back a pace, snarl vanishing with a disdainful sniff.

"I suppose not." Eyes narrowing, the wraith pushed his ivory hair back and expelled a sharp chuff, quickly regaining his composure. The reverberating hissing stopped. "Do you truly wish to alienate me this way, Major?"

Now who was bluffing?

"Are you threatening to stop cooperating, Steve?"

The wraith flashed Major Sheppard one of his best, creepily-toothy, amiable smiles. "Of course not, Major," oval pupils flicked briefly to the gloved wrist, "I am aware of how important uncovering the secrets of this device is." A pointed pause, then… "For BOTH our speciesss."

"Good. I'd hate to think a few flowers could derail scientific discovery."

"That, Major Sheppard," Steve tilted his head conversationally, thinly veiled condescension dripping from his tongue, "is entirely up to you."

And what was THAT supposed to mean?

"Oh, really?" Sheppard held the arrogant gaze coolly, sensing a barrage of passive aggressive resistance looming in the near future. He was prepared to deflect it, of course, but… Naively, he'd been hoping he wouldn't have to.

Oh, well…

Unsurprisingly, the wraith declined to elaborate on the comment. Attention shifting to the 'vase,' Steve caressed the Xex tube with a translucent claw and brushed his fingerpads delicately across the sprig of blossoms, deftly tracing their star-clustered petals. "The presence of this life form in my cell bothers you," he murmured.

Hadn't they covered this already? Warning bells ringing, Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, Steve. 'Cause it shouldn't BE there."

The ivory framing Steve's face rippled with a brisk nod. "Very well."

With a sharp snap of leather, Steve turned abruptly and strode to the center of his cell. Circling the waiting laptop, (which now displayed a twisting, techni-colored screensaver), he dropped to a crouch and placed the Xex tube carefully on the floor. Watching intently to make sure it was well balanced, he released the fragile conglomeration slowly and stepped back. As soon as it was out of range of his coat panels, Steve caught Sheppard's gaze and straightened.

Tension crackled through the cell as the wraith's olive eyes widened challengingly.

"Come and take it."

**Flashback to the Emergency Meeting…**

Faced with his colleagues' collective skepticism and Dr. Weir's carefully restrained fury, Major Sheppard lowered his voice seriously.

"'Cause he waiting to see what we'll do."

A pensive silence met his words. Lieutenant Ford fidgeted while McKay and Carson exchanged glances.

Dr. Weir frowned, "Explain."

Relieved that his protest hadn't been nixed outright, Major Sheppard got straight to the point. "Steve didn't have to reveal he'd been pocketing stuff."

Apparently this wasn't as revelatory as it was supposed to be.

"Um," Dr. McKay blinked, confused, "What does that mean, exactly?"

Sheppard stared at him, "It means Steve didn't have to let Ford see the Xex tube."

McKay's eyes rolled in exasperation, "No, no. I get that. It's the subtext. You always assume everyone understands, but you should know by now I—"

"Major Sheppard has a point, Ma'am." Sergeant Bates turned to Weir, ignoring Rodney's grimace at the interruption. "The smuggled items are all small. If our prisoner wanted to dispose of them, he could've shoved them down the drainpipe—"

McKay scoffed disbelievingly, "Down the drainpipe?"

Bates sent a grim glower McKay's way, "In the shower." He returned his attention to Dr. Weir. "We'd have never known they existed."

Beside Rodney, Dr. Beckett considered the Security Chief with surprise. "Are ye sayin' Steve wants us to know 'e took 'em?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"What WE'RE saying," amended Sheppard.

Bates acknowledged the correction with a nod.

"But why?" Lieutenant Ford stared around the table, bewildered. "He has to know there'll be consequences."

"Consequences OTHER than drainpipe speculation, I assume."

Ignoring McKay's snarky mutter, Dr. Weir crossed her arms, "It's those consequences that he's after." She pondered the briefing room table before turning briskly to the wall-mounted LCD screen, "He's testing us." The magnified Xex tube glimmered mockingly as the wraith's shadow swayed across it.

Everyone studied the image for a moment. Then…

"Testing us?" McKay's skeptical huff shattered the collective quiet, "Why do something that basically forces us to tighten security?"

"'Cause he wants to see HOW we tighten security."

McKay shot Sheppard an annoyed glance, "Unless I'm mistaken, for a prisoner, tightened security generally equals BAD. Hence I repeat. How is that a test?"

Dr. Weir turned back to the table, "He's trying to figure out our boundaries."

A disbelieving laugh, "By pissing us off?"

Seeing Rodney's confusion mirrored by Ford and Dr. Beckett, Major Sheppard attempted to explain. "Pissing us off's the only thing that guarantees he'll get a response." McKay's bafflement deepened, and Sheppard sighed, "He does something good, he might get a reward or he might not. We can't praise him for every non-threatening move he makes. But if he misbehaves—"

"We have to punish him," Ford finished. "I get it."

"BUT," Sheppard lifted a finger, forestalling further potentially erroneous assumptions, "we can't punish him out of proportion to the offense."

"Good God," McKay gasped, "It's like a little kid stealing candy for attention."

The Major inwardly winced at the comparison. "No, it's not. It's a lot more complicated. What WE have to decide—"

Dr. Weir smoothly hijacked the narrative. "Is how offensive this… offense is." She punctuated the word 'offensive' with a raised eyebrow.

Major Sheppard nodded sagely in agreement.

Conversation lulled as everyone looked at the 'vase' some more.

"So, uh…" Ford shrugged expectantly, "How offensive is it?"

"Very offensive," McKay quickly interjected. "My examination of the new wraith room was interrupted. I'm extremely offended by that—"

"You're offended by everything," Sheppard quipped.

Dr. McKay huffed defensively, "That's not true—"

"Focus!" Dr. Weir snapped. The physicist's mouth snapped shut guiltily, and her glare flicked to Major Sheppard, who blinked innocently.

A soft, throat-clearing sound drew everyone's attention.

"Ah don' want to burst any bubbles," Fingers knitting together, Dr. Beckett laid his hands on the table and leaned forward, "But ah'm not offended in the slightest."

Dropping the act, Sheppard swiveled his chair, surprised. "You're not?"

"You're not?" echoed McKay disbelievingly.

Curious but displeased, Sergeant Bates surveyed the doctor with a frown.

"No, ah'm not." Carson's blue eyes darted to the image of the Xex tube before returning to Dr. Weir again. "Wi' all due respect. Conglomeration o' smuggled items aside…" He paused, then indicated the LCD screen, "Tha's a vase o' flowers."

The expedition leader's brown eyes narrowed disapprovingly.

"Ah know wha' ye said," Carson continued, quickly mollifying, "but it's true. Seashells, flowers, an empty chemical bottle—"

"A clear substance of indeterminate makeup and origin," muttered McKay.

"—There's nothin' dangerous 'bout 'em at all." Beckett's white, lab-coated shoulders lifted earnestly as he held Weir's gaze, "They're harmless."

Sergeant Bates's frown deepened, "You can't be sure of that."

Brow furrowing, Carson looked at the Security Chief. "Ah've seen lots o' injuries durin' my career, Sergeant. None were caused by flowers."

"Maybe he's hoping to give his guards allergy attacks," McKay grumbled.

"Ah highly doubt tha'." Shooting Rodney a bemused glance, Beckett turned to Dr. Weir again. "He's testin' us. Ah agree with ye on tha'. But it's not our security 'e's testin'. Not directly, anyway."

Lieutenant Ford was puzzled, "If it's not our security, what is it?"

Carson's reply was clipped, but earnest. "Our morality."

"Our morality?" Ford glanced at his superiors, confused. Bates was studying the Chief Surgeon thoughtfully, and Major Sheppard, (though he suspected where Carson was going), wasn't inclined to explain. Not yet, anyway…

"Aye," Beckett continued, "Our morality. 'E's tryin' to figure out where his restrictions as a prisoner, an' his rights as a sentient being, begin an' end."

Dr. McKay snorted, "And he's doing this by smuggling flowers?"

"Aye. Tha' 'e is."

"At the risk of sounding repetitive—How does that work, exactly?"

Eyeing the overtly skeptical physicist, Carson shrugged seriously. "By smugglin' somethin' totally an' completely harmless, like flowers, 'e can judge our reaction wi'out any extra, unnecessary variables. 'E's tryin' to isolate a single response."

"Experimenting with our behavior," murmured Weir.

"Now that's creepy," Ford grimaced.

"No creepier than anything else he's done," observed the Major.

"True."

Carson ignored the exchange, "The way we react now tells Steve 'ow we're likely to react to him takin' similar liberties in the future."

Remembering Sheppard's account of Steve's unorthodox entry into the 'Octopus Room,' Dr. Weir turned to the LCD screen pensively. "He already knows he'll get leniency if his actions benefit Atlantis." She and Sheppard had agreed the wraith shouldn't be penalized for forcing the premature investigation.

"An' this'll tell him wha' to expect from neutral activities."

Sergeant Bates glowered at the holding cell footage. "I don't like where this is going. What if he tries negative experiments next?"

Worried, McKay fidgeted nervously, "Negative? What, like attacking someone and measuring how long we take to shoot him?"

"Ah doubt 'e'd choose tha' particular method—"

"But it IS a legitimate concern," Weir pressed.

Dr. Beckett began to protest, but then paused and reluctantly conceded, "Aye."

"Well!" Sheppard announced, "In that case, we need to make sure our response to THIS liberty discourages Steve from taking negative ones."

Lieutenant Ford nodded in agreement, "And how do we do that, Sir?"

How indeed. He quickly bullshitted. "We need to be firm."

"But we mustn' over-react." Carson caught Sheppard's eye, "It's no coincidence tha' Steve did this after we delivered tha' computer. 'E's tryin' to find out how much 'e can trust us. We're enterin' a very delicate stage o' this relationship."

"Then we need to be gentle, too."

Dr. McKay stared at Major Sheppard with perplexed disbelief. "What? Firm and gentle?—Are we breaking in a horse now!"

"Nooo," Sheppard waffled, "We're breaking in a sensitive, intelligent alien predator—"

"A sensitive, yet intelligent, alien bug," McKay mimicked. He glared at Sheppard. "You're bullshitting, aren't you?"

"Not entirely. I just haven't fleshed the plan out completely yet."

"Well flesh it," Dr. Weir interrupted. She glowered at Major Sheppard warningly, "I understand your desire to keep us on good terms with our prisoner, but this security breach HAS to be taken seriously."

Sheppard bristled, "I AM taking it seriously!"

"Firm and gentle?" she demanded.

"Yes!" Sheppard snapped his fingers as the thought that'd been taking shape in the back of his mind abruptly clicked into focus. "Firm on the smuggling! Gentle on the flowers!" He grinned cockily, "Deter one, while going easy on the other."

Dr. Weir raised an unamused eyebrow, "And how do we do that?"

"Investigate the flowers. If they're truly harmless, he gets to keep 'em."

"And if they're not?"

"We deal with that as it comes."

"What about the smuggling?" Weir pressed, relenting on the speculation.

An evil twinkle glinted in Sheppard's eye. "Two words. Strip and Search."

Silence stretched excruciatingly through the debriefing room as everyone digested the ramifications of the term. Then…

"Ew!" McKay squeaked, "You want us to strip-search a Wraith?"

"Every time he re-enters his cell."

"This is ridiculous! We're talking about strip-searching an alien bug!" Impossibly, McKay's voice rose in pitch again, "Who's gonna DO that!"

Miffed, Sheppard glared at him, "Whoever I order to do it!"

In the chair beside the Major, Lieutenant Ford gulped and tried to make himself invisible. It didn't work.

"Strip-search," Sergeant Bates was nodding thoughtfully, "That's a good plan."

"Glad you like it—"

"We should've been doing it from the start."

Sheppard gave his Security Chief a deadpan stare, which Bates returned unabashedly.

Dr. Weir looked from Bates to her military commander critically. "You think strip-searching our Wraith will be a strong enough deterrant to prevent smuggling?"

Uncertainty niggled briefly at Sheppard's confidence, but he quickly squelched it. "Yes. I do."

"Why?"

Gut instinct, mostly. Unfortunately, saying that Steve struck him as a very clean, primly prudish alien bug wasn't gonna cut it here. "It's one of the few privacies we haven't taken from him yet."

"Nakedness can be disempowering," Sergeant Bates added.

"And what if Wraith don't care about nakedness the way humans do?"

At Weir's challenge, Major Sheppard and Bates exchanged a glance. Neither had considered that yet…

Carson unexpectedly rescued them. "Actually, ah think tha''ll work. When we started allowin' Steve to shower, 'e was dead set on wantin' privacy." Sensing confusion, the doctor raised a forestalling hand, "Not exactly the same, ah know. But strip-searches ARE a form o' takin' tha' privilege away." Beckett's blue eyes darted among his companions earnestly, "It's an intrusion tha' is unrelated to his cooperation wi' Atlantis, but which negatively affects his comfort on a personnel level."

Satisfied, Dr. Weir nodded while pacing thoughtfully before the screen, "And though he won't like it, he can't reasonably protest our doing it."

"No. 'E brought it on 'imself. 'E knew we'd do somethin'."

Across the table, Ford muttered, "I doubt he predicted THIS something."

Sheppard frowned and swiveled towards him, "You got a problem, Lieutenant?"

Ford quickly straightened, "No, Sir."

A knowing chuckle. "He just doesn't want to do it."

Dr. Weir looked at McKay reprovingly, "I don't think anyone here WANTS to strip a Wraith, Rodney."

If he caught the subtle reprimand, Dr. McKay didn't show it, "Well I seriously doubt our Wraith WANTS to be stripped." Huffing irritably, he leaned forward, "What if this backfires? I mean, Steve's got everything he needs. Food. A computer. …Food. That's everything a Wraith needs to survive—Hell, that's all I'D need to survive!—Coffee not withstanding—What if he refuses to leave his cell?"

Dr. Beckett glanced at Weir worriedly, "Tha' would be a problem. The punishment's no good if 'e can avoid it easily."

Unconcerned, Sheppard shrugged and swiveled back to the table, "Oh, he'll try that, all right. We just have to provide incentives to derail it."

"What sort of incentives?" Sergeant Bates asked.

"Something Steve can't resist…"

McKay scoffed loudly, "And what would that be?"

"Things he wants that he can only get OUTSIDE his cell."

The physicist's eyes rolled long-sufferingly, "Really? Outside his cell? I hadn't thought of that."

Major Sheppard spread his hands across the table musingly. "Just give me a moment. I'm thinking." He studied the live images of the Xex tube, pondering recent activities… "The flooded lab's last few rooms haven't been excavated. He might be coaxed out for that." An idea struck, "AND there's the morgue!"

Rodney laughed disbelievingly, "You want to coax him out with a rotting corpse?"

"He seemed interested in his 'deceased brethren.'"

"I doubt he's THAT interested—"

Sheppard's arms crossed with a clothy fwap! "Ya got a better, juicier carrot up your sleeve, McKay?"

"What? No! That's why I'm asking y—"

"Actually…" Sheppard and McKay both looked up hopefully as Dr. Weir shot Beckett a knowing glance. "I believe I have exactly the carrot you're looking for."

"You do?"

"I do." Weir raised an eyebrow expectantly, "Care to explain, Doctor?"

Carson looked at her in confusion. Then his eyes widened. "Oh! Tha'!" Confidence quickly illuminated the Scotsman's features. "Aye, tha' will work!" Grinning excitedly, he gave Major Sheppard a sharp nod, "Definitely!"

**End Flashback…**

"Come and take it, Major Sheppard." Taking another step back, Steve cocked his head with a hiss while spreading his arms nonthreateningly, "I will not stop you."

Sheppard didn't respond. The wraith's daring tone and challenging stare belied the benignity of his words. This was another power game…

Another test…

He glanced at the Xex tube, sparkling cheerfully on the floor, smack in the middle of the brightest circle of light. There was no doubt in Sheppard's mind that he could waltz in there and retrieve it without resistance. It was tempting.

His gaze flicked back to the wraith.

Steve smiled at him, translucent teeth baring in a creepily inviting grin.

…

Like Hell he was taking that! It went on HIS terms! NOT the wraith's.

Major Sheppard adopted an indifferent air. "I think I'll pass," he quipped.

Though his smile faded, Steve's eyes glinted with amusement as he nodded deferentially and straightened. "Suit yourself, Major." Unblinkingly maintaining eye-contact, he side-stepped the sparkling 'vase' and drifted towards the bars. A soft hiss whispered through the cell as he sank slowly to Sheppard's level. "What else did you come to ask, Major? Or did you visit solely to inform me of new protocolsss?…"

Perceptive alien.

The Major quirked a mocking eyebrow. "Actually, there WAS something else. I have a few questions for you about the hard-drive."

Steve's gloved fingers brushed the metal barrier, "The one I salvaged?"

"Yeah, that one."

"Ahhhh…" Pale lips twitched with a sharp chuff, and Steve purred, "Your Dr. McKay has discovered the fault in his plan to extract data from it."

Hearing the smug pleasure in the wraith's tone, Sheppard felt vindicated. Steve was every bit as tickled at regaining this bargaining chip as he'd predicted. "Well, he's certainly discovered 'A' fault. Whether it's 'THE' fault…" He leaned closer and shrugged dismissively, "I can't exactly confirm that, can I?"

Taking the bait, Steve dipped his chin and obligingly elaborated, "You do not possess a compatable interface. Nor is he capable of constructing one."

Straight to the point. Sheppard grinned approvingly, "Since we've got THAT outta the way." He tapped his earpiece, "Sheppard to McKay. We're ready for ya."

Dr. McKay's voice crackled nervously, "Good, good. I'm coming."

On the other side of the bars, the wraith's expression turned wary.

Clicking his radio off, Major Sheppard studied Steve seriously, "Here's how this works." The olive eyes narrowed. "McKay's coming in to ask ya stuff. You, Steve, are gonna answer." Translucent teeth bared in protest, and the Major lifted a warning finger. Steve obligingly stilled. "Politely, Steve. And I suggest you consider your position before refusing to cooperate. Dr. Weir's not too pleased with you right now."

That last was an exaggeration. Weir was angrier at Sheppard for missing the smuggling than she was at the culprit. Steve, however, didn't know that. And, irrespective of whether the wraith actually cared about Weir's opinion, dropping her name had the desired effect. Glancing away, Steve sniffed primly and drew back. As McKay's footfall's began echoing down the stairs, their captive veered away with a haughty, leather-flaring flap and stalked towards the cell's center.

Sheppard watched the retreat with interest as McKay clattered noisily into the alcove. Maybe he should mention Weir more often? The wraith seemed to respect the authority she represented—

Steve stopped beyond the waiting laptop and stared, motionlessly, at a wall.

OR he was getting ready to ignore McKay again…

Great. This was turning out splendidly! Was everyone having fun yet?

Fervently hoping that the wraith would follow the politeness instruction, (for simplicity's sake, if nothing else), Major Sheppard turned as McKay briskly entered the room. The physicist seemed to have recovered from their trek down…

He looked a bit jittery, though. What part of 'trapped safely behind an impenetrable forcefield' didn't reassure the man?

Data-pad clutched to his chest, Dr. McKay moved quickly to the Major's side, huffed a fortifying breath, and briefly eyed the cell's occupant.

"Okay, I'm here," he announced.

Sheppard studied him, "I can see that."

"Right," McKay's eyes darted nervously at Steve, who didn't acknowledge him. His mouth opened, then shut again as he glanced back. "Sooo, I take it you're finished?"

Stalling tactics. Definite jitter symptoms. "Yup. That's why I called."

McKay jerked his thumb towards the cell, "You told him about the—"

"YES."

"And he's cool with—"

"McKayyyy," growled Sheppard.

"Right! Sticking to the plan." Steeling himself to address the deadly predator within the cage, Dr. McKay squared his shoulders and faced the cell. "Steve."

No response.

McKay cleared his throat, "Uh, Steve?"

Silence… The aloof figure remained rigidly still.

"Right," Rodney muttered, "Ignoring means walking. As if I haven't walked enough in the last hour…" Skirting Major Sheppard with a disgruntled sigh, he paced around the cell until he was standing in the wraith's line of sight and shrugged with exaggerated impatience. "Well? Are you gonna talk to me?"

Steve sniffed disdainfully and looked away.

"I've got questions!"

Sheppard inwardly winced. Good McKay. A+ on the diplomacy.

"Questions about the hard-drive!"

The oval-pupils snapped back to the human scientist. With a soft hiss, the wraith's face swiveled to follow them. "And I have answers, Doctor McKay." A defiant, emphatically exhaled, chuff. "A great many of them." Leading with a sharp dip of his head, Steve turned on his heel and began stalking along the inner edges of his cell.

Caught offguard by the abrupt move, Dr. McKay scurried to catch up.

Major Sheppard watched the undignified scramble and groaned mentally, resolving to drill Rodney later on the subtleties of maintaining control in prisoner conversations. He might not master it soon, but—

McKay tripped on the smooth floor and stumbled. "Slow down!" he griped, "It's not like we're actually GOing anywhere!"

—at least he'd be thinking about it—

"It's not like it's a race!"

…

Geez, this was embarrassing.

"What do you want to know, Doctor McKay?" Steve's ivory hair fanned behind him as he turned the next corner without slowing.

McKay's annoyance morphed instantly into seriousness. "The dying neural filaments," he shot out.

An impatient hiss and short bark, "What about them?"

"Is it possible to access the hard-drive's data without them?"

"No."

Rodney's brow furrowed. "Are they salvageable?"

Another quickly clipped, "No."

"How about synthetic substitutes?"

A low, distasteful chuff, "I know of no such technology."

Major Sheppard stepped away from the cage so Dr. McKay could move past him without breaking stride. Focused on the cell's occupant, McKay didn't seem to notice.

"So you're saying, our only option is to find a new one."

Steve's olive eyes narrowed, "That is what I would do."

Nodding pensively, McKay glanced at his data-pad, "What about growing one?"

Sheppard's eyebrows lifted in surprise. It seemed their recent discovery was making Atlantis's Head Scientist ambitious. Not that this was a bad thing…

Within the cage, Steve slowed abruptly, lithe form pivoting to face his interrogator. "Growing one?" A distinct note of incredulity had entered his voice.

Belatedly realizing the wraith wasn't with him, Rodney stumbled and looked back, "That's what I said, isn't it?" Olive eyes followed him unblinkingly as he retraced his steps with an annoyed huff. "Look. Zelenka's desalinating the purifier. Once it regenerates, we can grow incubators. With incubators, we can grow neural filaments."

Leaning towards the bars, Steve hissed disbelievingly, "Do you have any idea how long that would take?"

McKay grimaced at the condescending way the wraith had drawn out 'long.' "Of course not," he griped, "We've never tried it before! That's why we need advice. You have to admit, the idea itself isn't THAT far-fetched—"

"No!" Steve snapped, "It is merely impractical." Eyeing McKay superiorly, he quickened his pace once more. "What you propose, the regrowth of an entire micro-biology lab—from template, no less." A disdainful rattle suffused the cell as he shook his head, "Solely for the purpose of obtaining a single neural filament seed—"

"It's not like we wouldn't use it for anything else," McKay huffed.

"—Such tasks require a considerable investment of time and resources. Resources," Steve repeated, "which you freely admit, are limited."

"Not once the purifier is regenerated," Sheppard called as they walked past, "We've got plenty of compost to feed it."

McKay shrugged his shoulders dismissively, "What he said."

Pausing midstride, the wraith glanced conspicuously at Major Sheppard, apparently weighing his last comment. From his skeptical expression, Sheppard got the impression that he was unsure how seriously he was supposed to take McKay's plan.

He eyed Steve warningly and nodded slightly. Yeah, we're serious.

With a disgusted snort, Steve's attention returned to McKay. "To assume regeneration will be complete in time to suite your purposes is preposterous—"

"No more preposterous than assuming it won't be," McKay retorted.

"The regenerative progress of the hard-drive is an indicator."

Rodney scrambled to keep up as they rounded the cell's next corner, "It's a sample size of ONE. Not exactly reliable."

Steve's lips twitched with annoyance, "It is not dismissable, either."

Dr. McKay let out a disparaging laugh, "Yeah, well. We've got you. And seeing as you're, you know, down here?" he hugged his data-pad and looked smugly about the cell, "It would be idiotic NOT to get an accurate time estimate from you."

The wraith stared at McKay out of the corners of his eyes, not responding immediately. Rodney fidgeted under the scrutiny, but stared back, trying to look self-assured and victorious. Footsteps echoed in the void of their silence…

Finally, after completing a circuit of the cell, Steve narrowed his eyes deferentially. "Regrowing the entire lab will require considerable patience."

Elated by the minor win, Dr. McKay chuckled in relief and rolled his eyes, "You say that like you don't think Humans have any."

Steve expelled a condescending chuff and looked away, "Your lives are too short to truly cultivate the skill."

"Heh. Funny. Believe it or not, I'm actually a fan of long term projects."

"It will take several hundred guard shifts for the purifier to regain full functionality—"

"What?" Dr. McKay blinked in confusion, "Guardshifts? What does—" Realization dawned. "Oh. Right. Guardshifts."

"And several hundred more," continued Steve, "to regrow the nutrient regulator."

Still walking, Rodney turned to Sheppard in exasperation, "A little translation, if you don't mind!"

Feigning enlightenment, the Major did some quick mental math. "That means a couple months, Rodney."

"A couple months?" the physicist paused, "That's not too bad—"

"Each," Sheppard added.

McKay's face fell. "Four months to grow two machines?"

"Roughly. Several hundred isn't exactly a specific number."

The physicist rounded on the wraith accusingly. "I thought you guys were supposed to be efficient!"

Steve's pale chin lifted haughtily, "There are many kinds of efficiency, Dr. McKay. The inorganic properties of your environment are not ideal for organic reconstruction. Nor is your lack of resources." A smug hiss permeated the cell, "That duplication of the original lab is even possible, given the state of the original, is a testament to my kind's technological resourcefulness."

"Four months to regrow two machines," McKay repeated.

Ivory alien lashes dipped in a languid blink, "We are a patient race…"

"Lazy's more like it."

The wraith's face swung towards him in amusement, "No need to be insulting, Doctor."

"You haven't even glimpsed insulting yet."

Alarmed by McKay's glower, Major Sheppard decided it was time to intervene more proactively. "Stay on track! You're discussing neural filaments."

Rodney huffed irritably and stalked around the next corner. "Four months until we have reliable nutrient production doesn't give us neural filaments now," he snapped. "Our current hard-drive's left hanging!"

Inside the cage, Steve watched the physicist's mini-rant with blatant curiosity.

Noting the interest uneasily, Sheppard frowned. "So go on to the next option!"

"The next option's a long shot," McKay groused.

The wraith cocked his head and swayed closer to the bars, black coat panels swinging, "Perhapssss I should be the judge of that…"

At the sudden close proximity, Dr. McKay startled, "Whoa! Don't do that!" Blinking innocently, Steve tilted his head the other way. "Don't blink innocently at me, either! I know what you're doing!"

A querulous hiss whispered through the holding cell. "And what am I doing, Dr. McKay?" Not drawing attention to the action, Steve smoothly slowed to a stop.

Keeping pace, Dr. McKay unconsciously followed suit. "You're trying to intimidate me!" he accused. He shook a finger at the wraith, "Well, it won't work. You're in a cage, and I'm not."

Searching Rodney's flustered face for a moment, Steve narrowed his eyes consideringly and drew back. "Such an interpretation was not my intent…"

"Right. Like I'm supposed to believe that."

Chuffing softly, Steve regarded McKay with restrained interest and changed the subject. "What did you wish to ask next, Doctor? What is Atlantis's 'long shot?'"

Rodney's agitation visibly subsided. "The computer on M1X-347."

The wraith stared blankly at him.

McKay huffed an impatient sigh and snapped his fingers repeatedly, "The computer you pulled the hard-drive from."

"Ahhh…" Understanding sparked in the olive eyes. Understanding and puzzlement. "It is relevant to this discussion?"

"Yes," replied McKay, "Very relevant. Seeing as it's the only wraith computer we know of that's NOT rotting from excessive hydrogen dioxide exposure, Carson would like to know if its neural filaments might still be salvagable."

Within the cell, Steve's lithe posture went eerily still. Watchfulness electrified the atmosphere as the guards lining the walls detected the abrupt change.

Characteristically oblivious to the tension, McKay shrugged. "What? It's a simple enough question."

No response. Major Sheppard frowned as the stillness persisted. Then he side-stepped to the cage's nearest corner for a better view.

Rodney fidgeted with renewed irritatation. "Is there a chance they're salvagable or not!"

As the silence lengthened, Major Sheppard knew, with sudden, epiphantic certainty, that the answer was a resounding, 'YES!' The damn thing WAS still salvagable. And Atlantis was gonna need Steve's help bringing it back.

But now that Steve knew about the new strip-search protocol, he wasn't likely to be in a helpful mood.

He strode quickly towards McKay. "What's our time window?"

The wraith's olive gaze darted to Major Sheppard unreadably as Rodney looked at him in confusion. "What? What time window? What're you talking about?"

Major Sheppard held Steve's eyes intently. "The filaments are alive. Steve knows that. Don't you, Steve?" A low hiss met his words. The wraith's expression remained neutral. "But they won't STAY alive," the pale face angled towards him as he continued, "The console was too heavily damaged for that. Wasn't it?"

No response. Dr. McKay opened and closed his mouth, looking from Sheppard to the wraith, and back again. "Wait. If they're alive, we've got to go back! We can extract them an—" he rounded on the wraith, "You can do that, right? Extract them and make them portable?" Steve's attention stayed rooted on Sheppard. "What am I saying? Of course you can," McKay brushed the lack of answers off. "After they're brought back, we can house them with the hard-drive to conserve nutrients—"

Major Sheppard raised a hand, cutting him off. "First we have to get 'em." He advanced on the bars, giving the wraith a warning look. "How long, Steve?"

Ivory brushed the metal in front of Sheppard's chest as Steve titled his head, studying his captor with inscrutible, oval-pupiled eyes…

After several seconds, Sheppard glared and barked, "How long!"

Steve bared his teeth in a pleased grin, and a musical, reverberating chuckle chimed thoughout the cell as he stepped back. "Your persistence is admirable, Major," unmistakable amusement suffused his tone as Steve dipped his chin, watching Sheppard with wide, not-quite challenging, eyes. "You are correct. The neural filament seed you seek may indeed survive within the damaged terminal on M1X-347." Leather scraped across leather as he inhaled a rattling hiss and began slowly weaving back and forth beyond the bars. Shadows shifted rhythmically. "And your Dr. McKay is correct in his assessment of my ability. I am capable of bringing it back intact. However—"

"However…?" Sheppard echoed, low and dangerously. He'd expected a 'however.' The wraith was enjoying this too much for there not to be.

"However," Steve continued, "the window for its survival is closing rapidly. It may already be too late." A soft, punctuating chuff, "And also—"

"Also?" Sheppard raised an eyebrow in mock surprise.

"Yessss. Also…" Steve swung away from the bars and paced past the Xex tube, eyes glinting eagerly. He stopped by the sleeping laptop and faced his captors, "I am discinlined to perform this task for you at the moment."

"What!" McKay squeaked disbelievingly, "You're 'disinclined?' Aren't you supposed to be cooperating out of penitence, or something?"

"I am cooperating," a smug hiss. Beads glimmered as the wraith indicated the waiting laptop with a sinuous sweep of his feeding hand. "I am assisting Dr. Beckett with the analysis of his results by providing my own insights. The work is most engaging—"

McKay scoffed derisively, "Yeah, I'll bet it is."

"—and complex." Steve lifted his chin with an air of lofty satisfaction, ivory hair swishing. "I suspect it will be sometime before I am satisfied with my conclusions."

Major Sheppard adopted a neutral expression, "Meaning…?"

The wraith looked at him with wide-eyed, (obviously feigned), innocence. "Meaning, Major, that there is much to occupy me here. I see no reason to delay my observations for a potentially fruitless errand that will result in personal discomfort."

This was it. The passive aggressiveness Sheppard had predicted. Their captive was about to begin refusing to do anything unrelated to the glove—

"No, Major," Steve continued, "Rather than subject myself to the indignities waiting for me upon my return, I believe I will remain here." His pale lips twitched in a mirthless smirk, "Perhaps indefinitely…" He cocked his head consideringly, then nodded slowly, as if deciding he liked the idea. "Yessss. Indefinitely should be adequate…" His slim shoulders straightened resolutely, "I shall remain here—"

"Adequate for what?" Dr. McKay spluttered, "How is staying HERE gonna—"

"—indefinitely. OR!" Ignoring McKay, Steve dropped the innocent act and sharpened his scrutiny of Sheppard. His multi-tonal voice deepened, reverberating with innuendo, "Until such time as the circumstances of my imprisonment seem more…" he chuffed musingly, "How shall I put it?" Lowering his ivory lashes smugly, Steve hooked some hair behind one ear with a delicate, twisting flourish and made a show of studying the ceiling before sweeping his gaze back to Sheppard, "Favorable."

The Major studied the daring spark in their prisoner's eyes for a moment. There was a challenge in there. And a definite air of triumph, too. It would seem Steve believed he had the upperhand in this skirmish…

Time to squelch that crap before the wraith got too full himself.

Gesturing for Rodney to let him handle this, Major Sheppard adopted an expression of mockingly feigned regret and rested his hands casually on the bars.

"Well, that's too bad, isn't it Steve?"

The wraith surveyed him haughtily.

Sheppard let the expectant silence linger for a moment. Then… "'Cause it just so happens, your good pal Carson wants to study your brain," he raised an eyebrow, "WHILE you're feeding those organic tools."

A flicker of uncertainty, so brief it might've been wishful thinking on his part, caused the daring look to waver slightly. Sheppard savored a surge of perverse satisfaction and ruthlessly pressed his advantage.

"And it so happens," he continued, "that Dr. Weir said he could."

The flicker wasn't imagination this time. One corner of Steve's mouth twitched with an inaudible chuff, and his eyes darted away for a millisecond. There was understanding dawning in the olive orbs. Understanding and realization.

…Tempered by belated wariness.

Knowing the wraith was powerless to change where the conversation was heading, Sheppard confirmed his suspicions with relish.

"But only AFTER you help us retrieve some neural filaments."

Steve's features twisted in a frustrated snarl, and Major Sheppard shrugged. He smiled through the bars with insincere apology. "Too bad about that whole, 'staying in your cell,' thing. Must be lookin' pretty dull, right about now."

The wraith glared daggers at him.

Holding the angry gaze, Sheppard lowered his voice seriously. "Care to reconsider your 'disinclined' statement?" he added ominously, "Steve?"

"NEVER!" Steve spat. The beads ringing his wrist flared violently.

Major Sheppard raised an eyebrow and backed away from the cell a few steps. No need to rub the salt in TOO much. "I'll just give ya a moment to think about that answer," he replied graciously. "'Cause I don't think you really mean it."

Steve snarled again, but didn't reply.

Raising a hand to placate McKay, who was edging unsubtly towards him, Sheppard studied their fuming prisoner in silence. He could practically see the gears turning in the wraith's head. Refusing to participate only worked as leverage if the refuser was willing to commit. A single exception transformed the tactic into empty posturing. Steve would realize that. And if Sheppard had read him right, (which, admittedly, wasn't necessarily the case), he was practical enough not to waste time engaging in futility. If he caved here, negotiations SHOULD return to normal.

Well… As normal as they'd BEEN going so far…

"Uh, Major. I don't think—"

A stern hand wave hushed McKay, "Just give him a moment."

"But he's not—"

"I said, 'give him a moment.'" Sheppard glanced reprovingly at McKay, then looked back at the cell. "Steve's a smart cookie. He'll make the right choice."

"For him, or for us?" Rodney muttered before quieting.

"Theoretically they're the same thing…" Sheppard absently murmured.

"HISSSSS!"

Steve's coat whipped the air with a loud SNAP! as he spun on his heel and began pacing angry circles around the sleeping laptop. His pale forehead furrowed in displeasure.

Startled by the sudden move, Dr. McKay clutched his data-pad in a deathgrip and deliberately looked away from the cell. "I hate it when he does that…"

"We can tell." Ignoring the exasperated look McKay shot his way, Major Sheppard watched the stiff-legged stalking with approval. The change was good. It meant Steve was over his initial fury enough to be thinking about his predicament rationally. They should be getting his 'Real' answer anytime now…

Silence… Punctuated by the abrasive, staccato clacking of Steve's boots and a renewal of McKay's nervous grumbling…

…

Anytime now…

…

Okaaay… No change. Sheppard frowned as the wraith continued to pace without showing any signs of stopping or changing his pattern. Drawing the matter out interminably was another passive aggressive tactic. A petty tactic, but a tactic nonetheless. And NOT one he wanted to encourage.

"Perhaps I should mention that this is a limited time offer, Steve."

No response. The laptop and Xex tube continued vanishing and reappearing as Steve strode circles around them, staring angrily at the metal floor.

Sheppard gave the repetitive non-decision another minute and a half before declaring himself tired of the game and calling their prisoner's bluff.

"Oh, well," he heaved a melodramatic sigh of disappointment, "Guess I'll have to find Carson a new friend to play with. See ya around, Steve." Clapping Dr. McKay on the shoulder, he turned away, as if to leave, "I'll contact ya if we find anything new in the flooded lab." Dragging a confused McKay behind him, he headed briskly for the alcove.

The wraith's footsteps stopped. Sheppard pretended he didn't hear.

Letting the Major steer him, Rodney spluttered under his breath, "What are you doing? We need him—"

Sheppard squeezed his arm, muttering, "Zip it."

"Ow! What was that for?" Sheppard shot him a quick, 'you're ruining my plan,' glare. McKay rolled his eyes, "Fine. I'll wait."

An explosive chuff reverberated through the holding cell as they reached the alcove. "Very well, Major. You have made your point!"

Major Sheppard grinned, and McKay rolled his eyes again at his 'told ya so,' expression. "Good!" Spinning on a dime, Sheppard faced the cage once more. The wraith was staring defiantly at him. "I was starting to worry there for a second."

Steve hissed softly, a dangerous, warning sound. His oval pupils held the Major's eyes unblinkingly as he spat, "The neural filament seed on planet M1X-347 will likely survive for another four or five guard shifts. Six at the longest. But no more."

"And you'll help bring it back here safely?"

The warning hiss returned, vibrating through the room, a long, drawn out expression of displeasure. Sheppard weathered the aural protest stoically. Capitulating so soon, bare minutes after making a stand, was humiliating. The wraith's ego would be tearing itself to pieces right about now.

The hiss faded finally, and Steve inhaled sharply, defiant eyes never leaving Sheppard's face. His multi-tonal words bit crisply past tightly clenched teeth. "As well as ensuring its correct maintenance and installation."

All that too? Sheppard raised a surprised eyebrow. He'd expected more posturing first. "Just clarifying. You're gonna help Carson put it in the hard-drive?"

…Silence. Then…

"Yessss…"

Bonus! Sheppard had been planning on tackling that next, but it seemed the wraith knew exactly when and how badly he'd lost. And the lack of further posturing meant he was better at swallowing his pride than Sheppard had thought. His grin widened. "Four or five guard shifts, huh?" he made a show of mulling that over as he returned to the cell, "That's roughly what? Sixteen… Twenty hours?" He glanced meaningfully at McKay, "Decent amount of time. Almost an entire day."

Opening his mouth to agree, Dr. McKay frowned suddenly, "You'd think that, wouldn't you?"

"Huh?"

Within the cage, Steve's baleful stare shifted to the fidgeting physicist. "The timing is more than sufficient for effecting a successful extraction."

Waking up his data-pad with a quick tap, McKay let out a short, disparaging laugh, "Hah! Actually, I'm pretty sure you're wrong."

The wraith's lips curled distastefully, but before he could disagree, Sheppard decided to intervene. Unnecessary arguments got Atlantis nowhere.

"Look, whatever," waving off McKay's statement as if it were irrelevant, he deliberately caught Steve's eye to regain his attention. "While he's doing that—" (whatever THAT was. McKay was tapping a mile a minute, so engrossed he hadn't noticed the brush off) "—why don't you tell me what sorta supplies we'll need. For example. Does this extraction require special equipment?"

Shifting his weight, Steve folded his arms loosely across his stomach and flexed his ungloved fingers against his right bracer. He cocked his head slightly. "While the use of the organic tools you're studying would undoubtedly be beneficial—"

Sheppard inwardly snorted. Like Hell THAT was gonna happen.

"—a simple tank of nutrient fluid for transportation will suffice."

THAT he could do. Major Sheppard nodded, "I'll get Carson on it."

The wraith's expression turned musing, "And… if your medical experts possess it. A sort of," a short, noncommittal chuff, "epidermal patch…?"

Like Liquid Skin? Or Band Aids? "Yeah, we've got that."

"It is likely that I will require a larger surface area of membrane than the console currently possesses. If that is the case, an artificial substitute will be useful."

"I'll add it to the list."

"If you're making a list," Dr. McKay suddenly snapped, "you'd better finish it fast. Our time window's closing rapidly!"

Steve hissed in annoyance, and Sheppard turned to Rodney in exasperated confusion. "Care to explain that? We've got almost twenty hours—"

"Yes!" McKay irritably barked, "Twenty hours before the filaments die." He shoved his data-pad's screen towards the Major's face. A fuzzy, too-close view of an alien planet's statistic entry dominated the open window, "Which is entirely and TOTALLY unrelated to our ability to get at them."

Jerking back, Sheppard snatched the pad from McKay before his efforts to read its glowing, bobbing letters permanently damaged his vision. "What's this? M1X-347?"

"Yes!" huffing impatiently, McKay jabbed a finger at some numbers scrolling across the confiscated screen. His urgent voice was tinged with worry, "And we've got less than two and a half hours before its next night cycle starts."

Sheppard's eyes widened, "You're kidding me!"

"You wish," Rodney muttered.

They stared at each other in mutual disbelief for a moment, until an insistent hiss drew their attention. The wraith was watching them seriously.

"Two and a half hours?" Steve asked.

"Half a guard shift," Major Sheppard explained, rounding down.

Brow furrowing, Steve looked away, olive gaze darting distractedly about, "That is not enough time." Outside the cell, the Major cursed loudly. "I cannot safely perform—"

"The travel time alone—" McKay blurted.

"—an extraction this delicate—"

"We have to get Teyla," Sheppard muttered. The Athosian was still on the mainland, visiting her people. "That's almost an hour round trip."

"Assuming whoever we sent found her easily," added McKay.

Ivory shifted as Steve looked quickly to his captors, "We must extract the terminal."

Sheppard and Rodney both looked at him. "Excuse me?"

Steve chuffed urgently, "We must uproot the entire console and bring it here."

Dr. McKay stared at him, surprised, "You can do that?"

A curt nod, "Yesssss."

Glancing at Rodney, Sheppard stepped closer to the cell, "Even with the shortened time-line?"

Another nod, "It is the only viable option."

Studying the inscrutable alien face, Major Sheppard held Steve's olive gaze seriously. The wraith seemed earnest enough…

Exhaling audibly, Steve inclined his head slowly towards his captor, carefully maintaining their eye contact. "I wish to study the organic tools, Major."

He paused expectantly, and Major Sheppard deliberately nodded back.

"And we wish to study the hard-drive."

"Yesssss…"

They had an understanding, then. Major Sheppard decisively turned to Dr. McKay. "We're doing it."

Rodney rolled his eyes, "Was there really any doubt?"

The Major ignored that comment and tapped his earpiece, "Sheppard to Sergeant Bates." The radio squawked to life almost instantly.

"Bates here. Is there a problem, Major?"

"You could say that," Sheppard quipped. Sobering quickly, he started barking orders. "Get Marcum and Stackhouse in a jumper. I want Teyla back ASAP. And I need an off-world security detail for our prisoner."

"May I ask where we're taking him?" The Security Chief sounded suspicious.

"I'll brief you on the way to the Gate Room. Sheppard out." Knowing he'd catch an earful for that, especially considering recent events, Major Sheppard tapped his radio off and turned his attention to Dr. McKay. "Rodney, I want you—"

"To brief Carson and get the nutrients and epidermal substitutes ready," McKay interrupted knowingly, "I'm way ahead of y—"

"No, you're not," Sheppard interrupted, "I can do that over the radio. What I really want is for you to grab an engineering team and rig up a wench and pulley system in the back of one of the Puddlejumpers."

Dr. McKay blinked at him in surprise, "What on Earth do we need THAT for?"

Sheppard's eyebrows lifted, "For transporting the console."

Laughing nervously, McKay's tone turned hopefully dubious, "Um, unless I'm seriously misremembering something—which I'm certain is NOT the case—I could've sworn M1X-347's atmosphere was dangerous for flying."

Sheppard shrugged dismissively, "Only the upper atmosphere."

"Oh. Right," McKay laughed again, "How silly of me. The upper atmosphere is the Certain Death zone. The lower parts are only, 'Enter At Your Own Risk."

Sheppard glared, unamused, "As long as we don't get too far above the treetops, we'll be fine. It'll save time."

"It's still a risk!"

"The branches will act like a shield."

"But—"

"Look, McKay. I don't care how bad the upper air currents are. I'm NOT lugging an entire wraith console through a mile of uncleared jungle."

Silence. The military commander and chief scientist stared at each other.

Then…

"Technically it's deciduous forest," Dr. McKay corrected.

Major Sheppard rolled his eyes, "You get the picture."

Tucking his data-pad under one arm, McKay grudgingly conceded, "Yes, unfortunately I do." He turned to go. "I'll meet you in the Gate Room."

As the physicist tapped his radio and left through the alcove, already chattering at Zelenka, Major Sheppard returned his attention to the cell and the wraith inside it. Steve was watching him with expectant urgency. The Major squared his shoulders. "Okay, Steve. You know what happens next."

Hissing softly, the wraith dipped his head, "A security detail will arrive. To ensure the neural filament seed's survival, I will cooperate extensively."

"Good." Moving close to the bars, Sheppard held Steve's gaze and lowered his voice seriously, "Now… I want you to think about what happens later. AFTER we return to Atlantis and finish transplanting the seed."

Steve's translucent teeth flashed in a grimace, and he curled his upper lip distastefully. The strip-search, it seemed, had not been forgotten.

"I am aware," he growled.

Nodding in approval, the Major hardened his stare. "If there is anything—And I mean ANYthing—that you do not want found on your person when we search you—"

Steve's eyes widened at the sudden threat in his tone.

"—I suggest you give it to me. Now."

The word 'Now' reverberated through the holding cell. As its echoes faded, Steve glared at his captor with renewed defiance, "Am I supposed to believe, Major Sheppard, that relinquishment, under these circumstances, will not be met with further," he exhaled a sardonic, meaning-laden hiss, "consequencessss…?"

Firm, yet gentle. Adopting a neutral expression, Sheppard replied, "You can believe whatever you want. All I'M saying, is that right now, at this moment, any 'relinquishments' on your part are much more likely to be overlooked."

"I sssee…" The wraith studied him skeptically for several seconds before releasing a mirthless chuckle and gliding quickly to the bars. "Perhaps I will make use of this opportunity. However, before I do…" Sinking to his captor's eye-level, he pushed his face close to the forcefield and inhaled deeply. The beads ringing his wrist flickered and glimmered, and he flexed his feeding hand, exhaling with obvious relish. "Tell me, Major. Do you believe I possess other objectsss?"

Mildly unsettled by the blatant reminder of his tastiness, Sheppard hid his discomfort behind a mocking shrug. "What I believe doesn't matter, Steve."

"So you ssssay…" Inhaling deeply once more, Steve placed his fingers on the horizontal bar separating them and dragged them lightly across its metallic surface. Amber shifted upon the silvery barrier. "Yet my curiosity remainsss."

Tough luck! Sheppard leaned forward, glowering warningly, "Yeah, well, the only way your 'curiosity' is gonna be satisfied is by reading my mind."

Steve laughed, a sharp bark of amusement, "Regretfully, that is beyond my telepathic ability." When the Major didn't say anything more, he chuckled softly and narrowed his eyes, "Very well, Major. My curiosity will go unsated. I, however, will answer the question you did not ask." Blinking with deliberate slowness, Steve grinned smugly while swiping his gloved palm over the bar one last time.

Orange glinted against black fabric. Glancing down, Major Sheppard saw the wraith's feeding hand reveal an object. A tiny, unassuming, glittering object…

One of the Ancient beads.

Shit.

He glanced up again, growling, "You're damn lucky my people didn't find that on you."

Steve hissed superiorly, "What makes you think they would have, Major?"

For the love of—Irked almost beyond reason by the wraith's audacity, (not to mention the failure to detect the sleight-of-hand tricks that had led to this in the first place), Major Sheppard glared at the amber sphere and grudgingly admitted, "Nothing, actually…" Watching the wraith out of the corner of his eye as he said it, he saw Steve's grin widen into an expression of canary-swallowing insufferablity. That was unacceptable. Thinking quickly, he added,

"Aside from the fact that you chose to reveal it, of course…"

The smug grin vanished.

**Meanwhile, on M1X-347…**

Cloaked by the deepening twilight of the Night Beast world, a slim figure dug its rag-wrapped fingers through the soft loam hugging the bark of a tree trunk. There was a root here. A large, fungal tuber that glowed palely in the dim moonlight. This variety could not be found easily during full daylight, but for those willing to brave the encroachment of night to find it, the tuber was a worthy prize. It would sell well in the marketplaces. Rich worlds valued its delicate taste, while poor worshipped its healing uses. Of all the fruits of the Night Beast world, it was the most sought after.

White light poured from the soil, illuminating the branches above, and the gatherer paused as her buried fingers brushed the tuber's skin. Soft and tender. A worthy prize… Her eager digits explored it, loosening dirt from the protruding root fronds while taking care not to damage the delicate outer flesh. The tuber would fetch more if it retained its ability to glow, and that would only be possible if it remained undamaged…

She continued working.

After several long minutes of painstaking cleaning, the Night Glow Root lifted from the earth and rolled gently into the gatherer's waiting lap. She held her breath, willing its dimming light to steady and hold. When the pale glow didn't flicker and die out, but instead strengthened, she almost laughed with relief. A worthy prize indeed!

Not caring that she smudged her face, the gatherer pushed her hair back with pride and raised the tuber up. Its feathery fronds dangled among the trailing tails of her handwraps like a glowing curtain. She gazed upon it with pleasure for a moment. Then she glanced about her, studying the patterns of the shadows.

The gatherer frowned. The tuber's large size meant that it had taken longer to retrieve than she'd originally intended. She must pack it quickly. Frowning worriedly, she began pulling tufts of moss from the nearby tree trunk. The soft plants made excellent padding. She eyed the pile she was making critically. The Night Glow Root was quite large. It would take a lot to protect it. Likely it would fill an entire bag…

The thought filled the gatherer with a warm fluttery feeling, and she quickened her pace. The tuber would fetch a premium trade value everywhere. All she had to do was return through the Ring of the Ancestors with it. There were several hours of dwindling daylight left, and she was already near the forest's edge.

There was plenty of time left for reaching the portal.

The gatherer smiled softly to herself and continued working. Her family would eat well this moon.

* * *

Thank you for reading! Please review! Again, things I'm working on specifically are: 1. Maintaining a Season 1 feel in the flashback chapters. 2. Keeping the regulars in character.

As we're getting further into the plot, I'll now add a three to this list.

3. Making the new and different, (and/or bizarre), things that happen seem realistic and believable.

(Once more, I apologize profusely for this last delay! I am trying very hard not to do it again.)


	21. Chapter 19: Tactical Error: Part 2

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

My New Year's Resolution is to continue up-dating this story!

Thank you SO much for the reviews that came in after the last chapter. When Life, the Universe, and Everything In It seem to be conspiring to keep me from pursuing creative endeavors, it's nice to know everyone's still there. They were very helpful and inspiring. (Especially Lilo's recent, 'waiting...')

Many thanks go to one of my co-workers, who discovered NaNoWriMo, which got me writing again. (I didn't succeed there, but it catapulted me back into the Pegasus Tango.)

My goal originally was to update on the stroke of midnight, but I didn't quite make it. (For whoever predicted that attempt and gave me this year's first view, I'm sorry. Your faith WAS justified!)

I will mention in my defense, that this year and a half weren't a total literary bust. Last spring I figured out how to use Smashwords, and I'm proud to announce that I've got a free short story and a contemporary fantasy novel available there for e-readers. I've posted links in my profile, (assuming it doesn't edit them out), and if anyone's interested, they could really use reviews. If people like, I can try making a Smashwords coupon for my profile too.

But enough of that!

And now, FINALLY, without further ado...

Happy Reading!

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.

**Chapter Nineteen: Tactical Error – Part Two**

_**3 years, 47 and ½ weeks earlier**_

From the balcony overlooking Atlantis's Stargate, Dr. Weir gazed at the hasty scramble of impromptu preparations taking place below her with mixed feelings. Everything about this retrieval mission was happening too quickly.

"I don't like this," she muttered.

Arms crossed sternly beside her, Sergeant Bates nodded minutely in acknowledgement. "We can still call it off, Ma'am."

Frowning, Weir swept her attention from the pile of duffle bags growing on the Gateroom floor over to the circle of security guards stationed by the Stargate. Atlantis's prisoner stood quietly within their perimeter, an island of calm amidst his captors' frenetic activity. He'd arrived barking instructions about various supplies they might need to overcome difficulties in the console's extraction, but since he'd finished, he hadn't said a word. Just surveyed the commotion around him dispassionately.

Watching.

…Waiting.

…

"It all feels too rushed," she murmured.

As if attracted by the scrutiny, the wraith lifted his surveying to the balcony, meeting Dr. Weir's stare. His alien eyes blinked impassively.

A chill trickled down the expedition leader's spine. She was a diplomat. A negotiator. But she couldn't read that enigmatic expression. She didn't know—none of them knew—what that wraith was thinking.

"Just say the word, Ma'am."

"No…" Holding their captive's gaze, Dr. Weir inclined her head deliberately. Steve blinked impassively once more and turned away. Unsure whether that was good or bad, she drew back from the railing. "We're using the same precautions as last time. They'll suffice. There's no point second-guessing ourselves." It was the speed of this mission's planning that was bothering her. Not the plan itself.

"Doctor Weir," Peter Grodin called.

"I'm coming." Thrusting her misgivings aside, Weir strode briskly to the Gateroom's control center. Casting a last, disapproving frown at the wraith, Sergeant Bates swiveled on his heel and followed her to the Stargate's DHD console.

Dr. Grodin rose to meet them. "Jumper Three has returned. They report Teyla is onboard. No problems locating her." Listening a moment with fingers hovering by his earpiece, he looked at Weir questioningly. "They request orders."

Dr. Weir nodded, "Tell them to continue to the Gateroom."

Grodin relayed the command, adding, "We'll load equipment and additional personnel here. Sergeant Bates will brief you. Grodin out."

As he tapped his radio off and lowered his hand, Dr. Weir crossed her arms pensively. "What's our status?"

Peter Grodin glanced at the Stargate, "Dr. Beckett believes the infirmary will be prepared to receive the wraith terminal within the hour."

"And the modifications to Jumper Five?"

"Likewise," Peter Grodin shrugged, "Dr. McKay reports no difficulties with the installation of the winch and guide pulleys. So far."

Satisfied, Dr. Weir gave Grodin a tight, eyebrow-lifting smile, "Sounds like we're in good shape. Let's hope it stays that way." Turning towards the glass-walled hall leading to her office, she tossed back, "Keep me posted."

Sergeant Bates fell into step beside her once more. "The risks may be minimized with the precautions we're taking, but they're still there."

"I'm aware."

"The timeline's too tight."

Weir frowned pensively, "Major Sheppard assures me that it's adequate."

"We've got less than two hours until nightfall," Bates stated firmly, "That leaves no margin for error. If something goes wrong—"

"If something goes wrong," she interrupted, "we withdraw. With or without the terminal." Reaching her office, she turned to her Security Chief reassuringly. "The safety of our people comes first. Always."

Realizing she wasn't going to change her mind, Sergeant Bates backed down. "Yes, Ma'am."

A low humm began resonating through the control tower, and Dr. Weir tensed, glancing quickly towards the Stargate. "Jumper three's coming."

"I'll go meet them." Bates stalked purposefully back the way they'd just come, muttering, "The faster they get out, the faster they get back."

Dryly amused, Weir watched as Lieutenant Ford, who'd just entered the hall, stepped hurriedly out of the annoyed Security Chief's path and waited for him to pass before continuing in to see her.

"What's his problem?" Ford asked as he arrived.

Dr. Weir raised a wry eyebrow. "Same as usual."

"…Right…" Confused, Lieutenant Ford shrugged dismissively and got to the point. "I took the vase—I mean the Xex tube—to the Chemistry Department. Dr. Bingman says she'll have test results on its contents in half an hour."

"So soon?" Weir was pleased.

"That's what they said."

"Excellent. Thank you, Lieutenant. You're dismissed." When Lieutenant Ford didn't immediately go to meet Major Sheppard, like they'd planned, Dr. Weir looked at him expectantly. "Was there something else, Lieutenant?"

Ford shifted his weight self-consciously. "Um… I was just wondering, Ma'am… What's your plan for the Xex tube and its, uh… contents?"

Weir studied the young solidier with concealed surprise, "That, Lieutenant, is entirely dependant upon what those contents turn out to be. Why?"

"Just curious, Ma'am." Ford glanced towards the Stargate as Jumper Three's cylindrical hull emerged from the control tower's ceiling. As the van-sized ship descended into the Gateroom, the personnel waiting for it moved to the walls, hastily tugging duffels and backpacks away from its landing zone. The wraith's security escort tightened its perimeter, then herded their charge into the space under the balcony.

Saluting Weir, Lieutenant Ford quickly left to help load.

The expedition leader watched him depart, then paced to her office's glass wall to track his progress. Below her, Jumper Three landed before the towering ring of Atlantis's Stargate. Its back hatch lowered, and Major Sheppard jogged out from the nearest access hallway to greet Teyla Emmagen as she disembarked.

The Athosian leader was not pleased. Even from thirty meters away, Dr. Weir could see that. She'd explained the situation over the radio, and Teyla had agreed to help for the same reasons as before. She believed in Atlantis and would support their decisions. But Teyla had also voiced the same objections.

Steve was Wraith. Wraith could not be trusted.

On the Gateroom floor, Major Sheppard pulled Teyla aside as Lieutenant Ford grabbed a bag from the pile and entered the Puddle Jumper. The pair held a hurried conversation, a brief recap of the mission. A final chance to withdraw.

Dr. Weir saw the Athosian shake her head. She was in.

"Thank you, Teyla…" Elizabeth whispered. Teyla's ability to set aside her personal feelings was admirable. It was a rare virtue, one which she respected the Athosian greatly for…

Beside the Jumper, Major Sheppard raised an arm, signaling they had a go. A flurry of personnel descended upon the waiting baggage, and within moments it was loaded and secured against expected turbulance. The loaders dispersed as quickly as they'd come, and the prisoner's escort emerged from beneath the balcony.

Crossing her arms, Dr. Weir moved closer to the glass to observe. Their 'guest' stalked smoothly across the Gateroom floor. His long hair and coat swayed, painting a wavy, black and white path across the red tilework. Centered exactly within his guards' circle, the wraith turned his face towards Major Sheppard and Teyla as he passed, then looked forward again, disappearing into the ship without a word.

Releasing a sigh of relief she hadn't realized she'd been holding, Dr. Weir allowed herself to relax slightly. Their prisoner appeared to be behaving. Using Carson's tests on the organic tools as a bribe had been a good idea…

Below her office, Major Sheppard handed Teyla a stun pistol and followed the wraith's escort into the hold. The Athosian hesitated, then joined him, and Jumper Three's ramp rose up with a muffled whir, hiding its passengers from view.

As the back hatch sealed closed, Weir's earpiece crackled to life.

"Dr. Weir, this is Major Sheppard. We're ready."

Even though he couldn't see her, she nodded. "Good. You have a go, Major. Try not to cut it too close."

"We'll be back in an hour. Sheppard out."

Quickly radioing Dr. Grodin, Weir gave him permission to dial the DHD, then turned to watch as a glimmering wormhole geysered to life within the towering ring of Atlantis's Stargate. Orienting itself towards the light, Jumper Three levitated to shoulder height and slowly accelerated. As it moved, all Sergeant Bates's warnings and all the things that could go wrong, began relisting themselves in her mind.

With a renewed sense of foreboding, Elizabeth Weir watched as the Puddle Jumper vanished into the rippling pool of energy.

"Good luck," she murmured.

**Meanwhile, on M1X-347…**

Beneath the sheltering branches of the tree, the gatherer pressed a last clump of moss into her bag and peeked inside. The Night Glow root was still glowing. Good. She'd packed it well. Now it was time to leave. Pulling the worn drawstrings closed, she knotted them about the clasp and stood while glancing at the surrounding shadows.

Not much daylight remained, but there was ample time to reach the portal. She had left later than this on occasion, but not by much. And not often.

Still, the prize she'd obtained was worth it.

Smiling at her success, the gatherer swung the bag with its precious contents gently onto her shoulder and began hiking quickly towards the forest's edge. The shadows lengthened as she went, heralding the awakening of the great beasts that claimed this world every night. The gatherer had never seen one. Nor did she wish to.

None who did ever lived to speak of it.

Gradually the trees overshadowing her progress thinned. Catching a glimpse of sunset sky through the branches, the gatherer increased her pace. The rocky field around the portal was near. In less than a candle's measure she'd be home. Her children would welcome her with happy cries, and her bondmate would look upon her prize with joy. He'd get the best price for it. Her family's future was secure, for a while, at least.

Bouyed by the anticipation of her success, the gatherer pushed through the underbrush at the edge of the portal's field and broke into a trot. She could see her goal now. The tall hoop of the Ancestors' legacy, perched upon a rocky knoll and, from her vantage point, partially obscured by a sea of waving krull grass.

Suddenly she stopped. The portal was activating. Who would come this late?

Dropping to a crouch, the gatherer concealed herself behind a lichen-encrusted rock and observed the glistening circle of blue light that'd appeared on the hill. Someone had lost their schedule. They would come through, see how late it was, and leave. No one stayed on the Night Beast world when it was this late…

A strange, floating metal cylinder, covered with foreign glyphs emerged from the portal's light and hovered above the grass.

Eyes widening with fear, the gatherer ducked with a muffled a gasp. She knew flying machines. What they did. What they carried. This one was shaped differently, but it didn't matter. She knew what it meant.

The white haired demons had come!

Terror flooded the gatherer's veins. She had to hide! Frantically, she looked about for concealment. The forest was her best chance. If they couldn't fly above her, they couldn't take her. The trees would act as a shield.

Risking a peek over the rock, the gatherer ducked again. It was coming! Coming towards her! She must act! Keeping as low as possible, she fled back into the undergrowth.

**01:50:37 until sunset…**

Major Sheppard stepped off Jumper Three's ramp into the lush greenery of the forest's edge and looked around critically. A circle of attentive faces, (and one unreadably impassive one), stared back. "Everyone ready?"

Nobody said they weren't.

"We are ready, Major," Teyla Emmagen confirmed.

Beside her, Lieutenant Ford nodded.

"Good." Turning, Sheppard called back into the hatch, "Close her up and get skimming. We'll meet you at the base."

In the cockpit, Marcum and Stackhouse gave quick salutes, "Yes, Sir!"

Controls were toggled, and as the hatch whirred up, Sheppard addressed his ground team again. "Remember! This isn't a jog around your Granny's block. But it's not a sprint either. There's gonna be heavy lifting after this. So pace yourselves." A chorus of, "Yes, Sirs!" echoed his remark. "Alright people. Move out!"

Ford and Teyla consulted their compass, and Steve's escort sprang swiftly into motion. The impromptu expedition surged into the undergrowth. As Jumper Three rose up behind them, Major Sheppard followed, taking the rear guard position with a wryly muttered, "And let's not go spraining any ankles on roots."

They made good time. Tree trunks and rotting logs sailed past. Branches smacked passing shoulders and thighs. Leaf and moss-muffled footsteps filled the still, twilight air. The field with the Stargate was quickly lost behind them.

Despite the circumstances, Sheppard was soon enjoying himself. It was refreshing, traveling through a forest at a brisk jog. No waiting for out-of-shape scientists. No constant stream of Dr. McKay's complaints. Just himself, his men, (and Teyla), and the humming whoosh of Jumper Three skimming the treetops as Marcum and Stackhouse practiced hovering in M1X-347's unpredictable lower atmosphere.

And the wraith, of course.

Drifting strategically to one side, Major Sheppard glanced surreptitiously at their prisoner. Steve was keeping pace, running easily within his escort's circle. His long strides ate the uneven terrain with rhythmic consistency, no flagging or faltering. He showed no sign the exertion was affecting him at all, and there was no doubt in Sheppard's mind the wraith could keep that pace all night without tiring.

The Major briefly fantasized about how nice it would be if McKay had half the alien scientist's stamina. Missions would be SO much easier.

A branch snapped underfoot, and Sheppard stumbled forward to catch himself, inadvertently getting a better view of Steve's face. Startled, he hid a frown and recovered. Had he seen that? Really? Naaah, no way!

Speeding up, Sheppard moved up alongside the security perimeter and stared openly at their captive. He HAD seen it!

Quickly he mentally revised his earlier observation. Steve WAS showing signs of exertion. It was subtle. And if he hadn't spent countless hours in staring matches with their captive, he probably wouldn't have noticed.

The wraith was panting.

Not obviously panting. Just a slight, upward pull of the lips opening the corners of his mouth, and a rapid tremor in the polished straps crossing his chest.

Was panting normal for a jogging wraith? Sheppard had been chased by dozens in the past, and none of them had panted.

Of course, most of them hadn't had visible faces, either…

Pale head bobbing luminescently in the growing gloom, Steve swung his face towards Sheppard, acknowledging the blatant scrutiny. His shadow-widened pupils studied the Major silently. Daringly? Uncaringly?

…Annoyed?

Meh. Sheppard didn't really care. Caught red-handed in his study of their prisoner, he raised his eyebrows flippantly. "You okay, Steve?"

Without missing a stride, Steve dodged a rotting stump and blinked impassively. "Purposeless inqueries into my welfare are atypical of you, Major."

Purposeless, huh? Maybe panting WAS normal.

"I am fine. Are you okay, as well?"

Condescending sarcasm. Cute. Undeterred, Sheppard ignored the mockery and switched the flippancy up a notch.

"You look hot."

Steve's eyes widened in startlement. He closed his mouth, then abruptly opened it again as a burst of repressed panting huffed out. Confusion spread across his face.

Weird reaction. Okaaay. "Am I wrong?"

As the Major watched curiously, Steve looked away, an introspective frown wrinkling his brow. Rustling branches and the jostling of limbs and equipment dominated the atmosphere for several moments.

Finally…

"I am warmer than I would prefer. Though not dangerously so."

All that thinking just for that? Interest piqued by the unexpected seriousness of the wraith's tone, Sheppard veered closer to the escort and feigned nonchalance. "You weren't too warm last time."

Steve hissed softly, "No…"

"But now you are."

Another hiss. "I dislike repeating myself, Major."

"Sorry, my bad." Hmmm… Fifty hours of daylight HAD raised M1X-347's temperature slightly. But not by more than a few degrees. Relatively speaking, it wasn't appreciably warmer than other habitable planets. Or Atlantis, for that matter.

Of course, their prisoner hadn't been jogging earlier.

Ah, screw it. He was probably WAY over thinking this.

As the sound of Marcum and Stackhouse buzzing treetops whooshed overhead again, Major Sheppard shrugged dismissively and looked away with a final, casually quipped, "Want some water?"

The pale face snapped sideways, and Steve stared at him with such a blatant look of all-encompassing disbelief that Sheppard suddenly wondered if he'd sprouted two heads. Resisting the urge to check, he blinked. Innocently. "What?"

An explosive chuff made the marines jogging between him and the wraith tense.

"When, Major," the incredulity in the barking retort was almost palpable, "have you ever seen me drink water?"

Never, actually. When they'd first captured him, Steve had ignored the water Sheppard had ordered put in his cell with as much disdain as he'd ignored the livestock.

"So, that's a, 'No,' then?"

Another disbelieving chuff startled a pair of birds nesting nearby.

Sheppard decided the wraith's reaction to his offer was starting to be a little much. He raised an eyebrow. "Hey. All living things need water."

The oval-pupiled eyes rolled long-sufferingly. "Yesssssss."

"That includes you, ya know."

No response. Steve panted rapidly and dodged a log, all while eyeing the Major with scornful disdain.

"I believe what our prisoner is trying to say," all eyes swept forward as Teyla's no-nonsense voice interrupted the growing tension behind her, "is that Wraith get all the moisture they need to survive from feeding."

That made sense. Though why the wraith hadn't just said so…

Within the circle of marines, Steve narrowed his eyes with a smug grin and hissed, "The female, Teyla, is perceptive."

"Yeah, she's smart, too," Sheppard quipped, watching the Athosian. Teyla's gaze was fixed determinedly on the forest, and the set of her shoulders as she kept pace with Ford suggested she wasn't likely to say anything further.

"Intelligence is usually a prerequisite for perception."

Okay, Sheppard wasn't sure he entirely agreed with that. But he WAS sure that running through a forest, with night falling, on a planet inhabited by man-eating, nocturnal beasts wasn't the best place to discuss complex, and potentially meaningful, topics with their alien prisoner. Better to keep things casually inane.

"Ya know, Steve. You could've just said, 'No thanks. I don't drink.'"

Grin fading, the wraith shot him an exasperated glance, "To do so would have been inaccurate. I am physically capable of ingesting liquid."

"But you DON'T norma—Ah, forget it." Maybe Teyla had the right idea. "Let's just… concentrate on running."

Taking the comment at face value, the wraith narrowed his eyes and looked away.

Concentrate on running they did. The darkness of twilight continued deepening. Insect chirps and birdcalls faded while others gradually took their place. Aside from a startling moment when something loud, (and suspiciously owl-like), hooted directly over Private Sheere's head, their progress through the forest was uneventful.

Uneventful, that is, until Marcum and Stackhouse radioed in to say they were leaving to swap jumpers. Sheppard had barely tapped his earpiece off after acknowledging their exit when Steve stopped dead in his tracks. No slowing. No warning. Just wraith WALL where once there'd been jogging back.

And the footing behind said wall wasn't ideal for stopping.

"WHOA!" Sheere swerved clumsily to the left, slipping down the loose pebbles and leafy detritus of a stream bank. His neighbor, Laris, swerved right and tripped on a wet rock, which sent her splashing to one knee. Major Sheppard, who'd retaken the rearguard, skittered haphazardly along the edge and only managed to avoid landing on Laris by grabbing wildly for a gnarled bush.

The rest of the escort skidded to a surprised halt and whirled back, stunners ready.

"I did NOT authorize a pitstop!" Balance recovered, Sheppard released the bush and cursed silently as he shook his hand out. Damn thing had mini-thorns!

Swearing a blue streak, (not silently), Private Sheere snapped his stunner up and scrambled quickly into place. As he glared daggers at the wraith down the barrel of his weapon, Laris jumped up and hurriedly filled the hole in the security perimeter her tumble had created. When Sheere's foul-mouthed grumbling didn't stop, she grimaced.

Sheppard joined Sheere's glaring party. "What's the big idea, Steve!?"

The wraith didn't answer. Apparently oblivious to the uproar he'd caused, he stood stockstill in the stream. The trickling current tugged at his coat panels, rhythmically animating his night-shrouded silhouette.

"Why are we stopping?" Teyla was not amused. Manner business-like, she strode back to the stream's edge and regarded the scene with disapproval.

"Damned if I know," Sheppard muttered. He jumped down into the shallow water and stalked towards the alert marines.

Lieutenant Ford emerged from the bushes beside Teyla, still consulting his compass. "What's the hold-up?"

As the Major circled Steve, Teyla caught his eye and inclined her head, glancing meaningfully into the forest, "We do not have time for this."

Deliberately echoing her impatience to show agreement, Sheppard nodded brusquely, "My thoughts exactly." He turned on his heel to face the wraith.

Steve didn't acknowledge him. He was staring at his feet.

"Steve?"

No… He was staring at the water. His olive eyes were darting back and forth, fixated on the rippling liquid as if it were the most fascinating sight in the Pegasus Galaxy. And his expression was one of rapt confusion.

It was the same look he'd had earlier, when Sheppard asked if he were hot.

Weird alien bug. Frowning impatiently, Major Sheppard moved closer to the escort and barked, "We're on a schedule, Steve! I did NOT say, 'Stop!'"

The wraith panted rapidly and kept watching, showing no sign that he'd heard.

Sheppard tried a different tact. "It's WATER. We've got plenty back on Atlantis. If you ask nicely, I'm sure Weir'll let you stare at some later."

No response.

The Major glared at their transfixed captive with growing frustration. He was NOT a mind reader. If Steve wouldn't say WHY he'd stopped, that limited Sheppard's options for motivating him to bribery and coercion. And since, well, bribery wasn't a smart precedent to set with the wraith…

Coercion it was.

Steeling for conflict, Sheppard lifted his chin and lowered his voice, "If that filament seed dies, your chance to examine the artifacts dies with it."

Eyes narrowing, Steve closed his mouth and inhaled deeply. He released the breath with a low hiss, then tilted his head slightly and started panting again.

"Ya hear me? I'm not joking, Steve—"

"I've changed my mind."

Struck momentarily dumb, Major Sheppard stared at the wraith with wide-eyed disbelief. He had NOT heard that! "Excuse me?"

Private Laris and the other marines shifted nervously as Steve's ivory head swayed to the left and tilted the other way. He didn't bother repeating himself. He hadn't bothered looking up from the stream either.

Suppressing a flashfire of anger, Sheppard raised warning eyebrows and spoke, slowly and dangerously. "You've changed your mind?"

"Yessssss."

What the Hell?! Not a trace of hesitation! "If you think we're turning around, you've got another think coming!" Sheppard didn't bother hiding how pissed he was now, "That is NOT how this relationship works!" Steve had agreed to extract that console, and he was damn well gonna do it! "You make a deal, you stick to it!" Sheppard would force the wraith to do it. He wasn't sure HOW yet, but—

"What are you getting upset for, Major?" Steve finally looked up. Blinking distractedly, he glanced about at the stunners leveled at him.

Sheppard was livid. What was he—For Pete's sake! "Uh, uh! No way. I am NOT playing games here."

The olive eyes darted accusingly across Sheppard's angry posture, and then snapped to his face, meeting his glare with wary confusion. "Nor am I, Major."

"Coulda fooled me."

Chuffing with annoyed perplexity, Steve angled his body away from Sheppard and studied the scene he'd caused, as if noticing it for the first time. He stilled for an instant. Then looked to his captor with new seriousness. "What is the problem?"

"I'll tell you what the problem is," Sheppard crossed his arms, resisting the urge to throttle. "You drag my people out here after promising to extract a console, then decide you don't feel like it! THAT'S a problem!"

Steve straightened, eyes widening indignantly, "I have done nothing of the sort."

The Major scoffed, doing a passable impression of McKay, "You said you changed your mind."

A sharp hiss, "Reference to something elsssse."

"Really?"

Ignoring the stunners pointed at him, Steve stalked slowly to the edge of his escort's perimeter. He cocked his head and bared translucent teeth, studying his captor intently, "To what did you think I referred?"

Well, that should've been obvious. Starting to get a niggling feeling that something was off, Sheppard humored the wraith. "Your agreement with Atlantis."

The teeth disappeared with a startled chuff, "Why did you think that?"

"'Cause that's what we were talking about!"

Steve blinked in surprise. Then… "We were not!"

Hit by an almost physical bludgeon of consternation, Sheppard suddenly flashed back to the wraith's behavior after they'd stopped. How he'd stared at the water, ignoring everything else. The distracted way he'd looked about after the Major reprimanded him. His apparent confusion followed by the quick turn to seriousness. As if he truly HADN'T noticed the uproar he'd caused. Sheppard had assumed the obliviousness was feigned, but… Now that he thought about it, Steve hadn't responded to a single thing Sheppard said until AFTER his controversial declaration.

My God. The wraith was more like McKay than he'd realized. Rocking back on his heels with the force of his epiphany, Major Sheppard stared at Steve with undisguised disbelief. "You weren't even listening to me, were you!?"

Steve bristled at his accusing tone and backed off a pace. His chin lifted defensively, "I was aware that you were speaking."

"But you weren't paying attention!"

Olive eyes skewered Sheppard as if he were a distasteful bug.

An instant later Steve angled his face away, disdainful gaze sweeping to his escort's still-leveled stunners. "It is possible that my," he expelled a low, reluctant-sounding hiss, "diligence… in interpretation was lacking."

And THAT was closer to an apology than Sheppard had expected to get. He opted to meet it with magnanimity. "Yeah, well. Don't let it happen again."

A panting, non-committal snort.

"So what the Hell WERE you referring to?" It hadn't escaped Sheppard's notice that they STILL didn't know why they'd stopped. He gestured for Private Sheere, Laris and the rest of the marines to stand down.

As the weapons surrounding him finally lowered, Steve smoothed his coat, inhaled deeply, and began eyeing the stream with fascination again, as if the confrontation had never occurred. "As I was saying," he absently murmured, "I have changed my mind about whether I will take your suggestion."

"And which suggestion was that?" Sheppard didn't remember making any.

Tucking loose hair delicately behind his ears, Steve dropped to a crouch and swept his fingers through the glistening currents. "You asked if I wanted water."

That'd been HOW long ago? Five minutes? Ten?

"I believe…" Lifting his dripping fingers to his face, Steve closed his eyes and inhaled with relish. He swept his cheeks past them, "I will try a drink."

NOW he wanted a drink! After all the grief he'd given Sheppard for suggesting it in the first place. "It took ya THAT long to decide?"

The wraith's expression shifted to one of confusion, and he opened his eyes, studying his fingers with bafflement, "It has occurred to me that I might be thirsty."

"MIGHT be?" It took great effort on Major Sheppard's part to not sound irritated, "Shouldn't you know?" This situation was ridiculous.

A scornful, sidelong glance darted his way. "My kind do not experience the sensation often, Major." On that condescending note, Steve dipped his ungloved hand into the glistening water and drank.

**Meanwhile, above the stream…**

The gatherer had never seen a white haired demon drink before. She'd never heard one speak. Never seen one feed. Nor did she care to. Ever.

Yet she had no choice.

Far above the stream, she clutched the branches that had become her hiding place and tried to quell the terror rising in her breast. She was trapped. The demon and its worshipers were directly below.

"You're telling me, you forgot what it feels like to be thirsty?!"

A blood-chilling hiss filtered up from the streambed, and the gatherer pressed her body closer to the rough bark of the tree. Silently she beseeched the Ancestors for protection. A little longer. Just a little longer. Night was falling. The demon would leave before the beasts came. She might still reach the portal.

The gatherer was far from the clearing. She'd run downwind to hide her scent, moving deep into the forest. Then she'd followed the stream, using its blessed water as a road to hide her tracks. She should've been safe. She'd taken every precaution. But unfortunate Fate had brought the demon's guards blundering into her path.

For a hundredth time, the gatherer thanked the Ancestors for their obliviousness.

"Ya gotta admit. That's a bit careless."

The voice of death, whispering among the swaying branches, made the gatherer cringe in fear. "I fail to see the cause of your amusement." Another hiss poisoned the air. The evil sound penetrated her bones, freezing them to the marrow.

Quelling a rush of panic, the gatherer watched with terrified eyes as the demon's worshipers milled below her. Let them not see. Blessed Ancestor's let their obliviousness continue! The branch she'd used to climb up here hung low over the stream, but in her panicking haste to hide, she'd broken it. If they stepped on the drowned twigs—If they SAW the tree's ravaged foliage…!

The normally comforting weight of her bag and its precious burden suddenly dragged at her shoulder like a rock, and the gatherer tightened her grip on it. Pain blossomed in her palm. She'd torn her nails on the climb up. Now they tore her.

A female worshipper stepped into view below her.

"Major Sheppard, the sun is setting. We must keep moving."

Yes, keep moving! The gatherer almost gasped with relief at those drifting words. They might yet pass her by!

The male voice she'd been hearing answered. "I'm with ya. Here."

A harsh, barely audible ripping noise followed, and a black dot hurtled across the stream. Like a snake striking, the white haired demon snatched it from the air.

"And this isssss…?"

"It's water. Drink it on the way."

The nightmare apparition swept to its feet. "Very well."

The gatherer held her breath as the demon and its swarm of human protectors exited the water and vanished from sight. For several long minutes she waited without moving, watching the foliage on stream banks. Making sure it was safe.

Finally the lengthening shadows forced her to be satisfied. She edged her way to the tree's trunk and climbed down, whispering gratitude for its protection the entire way. As her feet splashed into the water, a tremor of weakness assaulted her. The white haired demon had stood here. Its feet had displaced the pebbles her feet touched. The water swirling around her ankles had dampened its clothes.

Yet she lived.

She hugged herself, willing the strength to reach the portal to return to her limbs. She lived and she must keep it that way. Her family was depending on her!

Unbidden, the memory of the demon's face at it drank flashed before her. It would haunt her to her dying days. She'd never been that close to one!

Yet she lived!

Giddy with a sudden mixture of fear and relief, the gatherer resettled her bag on her shoulder and darted downstream. She would move away from this spot to hide her tracks, then circle back towards the portal. When the demon returned to its flying machine, she'd lie in wait while it left, then use the portal herself.

She would survive this. She would live to speak of what she'd seen.

And what she'd heard…

One word the worshipers had spoken was etched in the gatherer's mind like fire. It stayed with her as she ran, repeating over and over. Like a curse.

Atlantis.

She'd heard that word whispered among the villages lately. She'd heard it whispered in the marketplaces of a dozen worlds. She'd heard it whispered with awe. She'd heard it whispered with hope.

The gatherer had even started to believe in the word herself.

Atlantis.

…

Now it filled her with terror.

**01:37:23 until sunset…**

The extraction of the console went smoother than Major Sheppard and Dr. Weir had expected. The retrieval team arrived at the ravaged base on schedule, (despite Steve's pit stop), did a quick scout of the surrounding area, and jogged down the steep ridge overlooking the dug-up entrance with a minimum of slippage.

Ignoring the Frisbee-sized furballs tumble-weeding in the cool, twilight breeze, Sheppard and Teyla surveyed the torn ground as they approached.

"If anyone DID stop by," muttered Sheppard, "they didn't clean for us." The place still looked like a gnawed on, churned up mess.

Eyeing the excessively aerated earth and leaf litter seriously, the Athosian shook her head, "I do not see any new tracks."

Lieutenant Ford glanced about, clearly wondering how she could tell.

Behind him, within the circle of marines, Steve lifted his chin with a jerk and scented the air. "I detect no sign of recent activity," he hissed.

A metallic shiiinngg issued from the wraith's gloved hand as he spun the cap down on Major Sheppard's water bottle, and Private Sheere ducked with a curse as a deft wrist flick sent the dark canister missiling past his head.

Nonchalantly catching the bottle like the pro he was, Sheppard nodded in agreement. The place looked like Hell, but it didn't look any worse than before. "Don't give my people a reason to shoot you, Steve. At the moment, I kinda need you conscious." Which, of course, was why the wraith had done it. Ignoring the smug smirk his comment evoked, Sheppard tucked the water bottle back into its Velcro pocket, (it was significantly lighter than when it'd come out), and addressed the group.

"We stick to the plan. Get in. Extract the console. Get out."

"Yes, Sir," Lieutenant Ford murmured.

Various members of the escort echoed him.

"Okay." Hefting his P-90, Sheppard switched its mounted light on and swung the bright beam into the ruined maw of the base. "Lights on. We're going in."

The interior was just as decimated and deserted as before. Quick checks showed nothing had changed in the small rooms branching off the main corridor, and wary kicks failed to dislodge curious space furries from the mossy 'nest' that'd been wedged between the control room's broken pillars. Considering the entire space stank of apex predator, Sheppard didn't find this surprising. But one couldn't be too careful.

Satisfied nothing lethal or spooky was hiding in the shredded membranes, he swung his P-90's beam over the consoles.

Still nothing. The savaged remains lay motionlessly on the clawed floor. Trailing her light along the far wall, Teyla circled towards the toppled shapes and walked among them. She checked each individually, then caught Sheppard's eye and shook her head.

Good. Time to get down to business.

"We're clear," Major Sheppard announced.

Like a well-oiled machine, the escort poured from the hallway and descended upon the pool of stagnant goo surrounding the target console. They split to either side, skirting the carcass's edges, then doubled their perimeter's radius so Steve would have unimpeded access. Not wasting time, the wraith splashed to the terminal and began examining it with deft caresses and quick passes of his cheeks.

"How's it look?"

With an absent chuff, Steve fisted his ungloved hand and plunged it into the goo, striking the floor with a squelching thunk. "The deterioration has progressed as predicted."

Sheppard nodded, "Meaning the filaments are alive."

Vibrations shuddered beneath the marines' boots as Steve jerked a shard of floor free and tossed it aside, already reaching for more. "The seed remains viable, yessss."

Not a wasted trip. Good. Signaling Lieutenant Ford, Major Sheppard unshouldered his pack and unwrapped the bundle of double-layered plastic wrap and tourniquets that had been dubbed acceptable synthetic tissue patches earlier. In the event those failed, a package of hand towels and duct tape was available.

Ford dropped his duffel, (which contained significantly more sophisticated tools that hopefully wouldn't be needed yet), by Sheppard's knee, then jogged out with Sheere to watch for beasts. Splashes and the sound of chitin shattering filled the air as the methodical dismantling of the floor surrounding the console continued. Two thirds of the way around, the wraith paused to scrutinize his work. The pool's level had dropped as stale nutrient fluid rushed to fill spaces beneath the gaps, and deep claw gashes were visible in the terminal's base. Hissing softly, Steve pushed against the console. The top of the organic computer swayed. Chitin creaked in protest.

Frowning slightly, Sheppard fished out his knife. Steve was gonna ask for it any secon—

CRACK!

The wraith's body tensed in a sharp shove that shattered the remaining chitin while levering the console's pedestal into the air. "Your blade, Major Sheppard." Deftly twisting his forearm, Steve rolled the terminal along his black sleeve so it settled into the groove between his neck and glittering epaulet. The control panel dipped towards his back, lifting the pedestal higher and exposing shreds of membrane and clusters of tautly stretched organic tubes tangled within a chaotic mass of ragged tissues.

Steve's ungloved arm stretched out, fingers spreading imperiously.

Blade. Right. Reversing his TAC knife, Major Sheppard slapped its hilt into the wraith's waiting palm with a flip, "Don't cut youself."

Steve snorted disdainfully, "An unlikely eventuality."

"Yeah, well…" Sheppard watched the wraith grip the knife in his gloved fist and slip its curved tip out between his fingers. That just didn't look safe. If McKay were here, he'd be complaining about the Ancient fabric again.

"The synthetic patches, Major."

Tourniquets and plastic wrap time. Ignoring the sour tang of stale goo as it soaked his knees in a lukewarm sploosh, Major Sheppard crouched by Steve's side and began passing him lengths of flaccid yellow tubing. With businesslike efficiency, Steve looped each tourniquet around an organic tube in the console's base and began methodically tightening their fasteners, strangling the vessels one by one. Finished with that, he began severing them below the tourniquets, scrutinizing each wound for drips before snagging a finger around and slicing through the next. The process continued for a minute or two, then the ravaged pedestal bobbed up with a last slice.

With an absent chuff, Steve angled his body forward to conteract the released tension as he eyed the orange vessel he'd just cut. "Initial excision is complete."

Major Sheppard scooted sideways as Steve swung the pedestal away from its hole and deposited it by the pool. The damaged chitin crackled in protest at the uneven weight distribution as the wraith bent to dip his hands into its innards, sorting through the goo-slicked tourniquets. "Adjusting nutrient flow for transport," Steve barked, "The synthetic membranes, Major."

Shoving the remaining tourniquets into his duffel, Sheppard quickly repositioned himself by the wraith's side and yanked out the Cling Wrap. "How much 'synthetic membrane' do ya want?" It was really hard not to laugh saying that.

Steve's ungloved hand shot up, thumb and index finger extended. "Two sections, this width."

Eyeballing the space between the pale digits, Sheppard tugged out four inches of staticy plastic, then paused. "Including your claws?"

Olive eyes darted distractedly at him before returning to their task. "Excluding."

"Right." Major Sheppard added another half inch instead of two. Ripping it off on the built in metal teeth, he draped it over Steve's extended finger and squeaked the second sheet out. "How many more of these do ya need?"

Selecting two severed tubes of similar color and thickness, Steve pressed their ends together and stretched the Cling Wrap around them, sealing them together the same way he'd recirculated the hard drive's nutrient supply. "Assuming they are adequate for the task…" The second sheet slipped from Sheppard's hand and joined the first. The wraith began loosening the tourniquets on either side of the wrap. When no leaks appeared, a pleased hiss whispered through the room. "Another six should suffice."

"Six it is." Sheppard returned to tugging plastic out.

After attaching three more pairs of tubes to each other, Steve withdrew his hands from the cluster of tourniquet-tipped tentacles and wiped them off while rising smoothly to his feet. "The console's life support functions have been temporarily stabilized." Black coat panels creaked and dripped as he stepped around the console's base and dropped into a crouch by the dead control panel. The amber beads ringing the glove's wristband glimmered as they disappeared into a gash in the computer's side. "It will survive in this state long enough for the seed's extraction."

Signaling the escort to prepare for departure, Major Sheppard shoved the Cling Wrap box into his duffel and zipped it closed, watching their captive's new probing curiously. "Watcha doin' now?"

The wraith hissed distractedly, "Making sure no serious internal injuries exist that could present problems during transport."

"And are ya finding any?" Sheppard shouldered his duffel and reached down again, adding Ford's bag to his load with a grunt.

"No more than expected."

"So we can go, then?"

Slipping his feeding hand from the wound with a wet squelch, Steve closed his eyes and passed his cheeks over the damply dripping glove, inhaling deeply. After a few seconds, he nodded sharply and rose smartly to his feet while inclining his pale face curtly towards Sheppard. His olive eyes blinked resolutely, "Yes, Major. We can go."

"Excellent." Turning, Sheppard tapped his earpiece and exited the escort's perimeter so they could get at the pedestal. "Ford, Sheere. We're coming out."

Abandoning her silent vigil by the toppled carcasses, Teyla skirted the stagnant puddle. Ford's reply crackled in his ear as she strode to meet him.

"Ready when you are, Sir," Ford replied.

**Meanwhile, at the clearing's edge…**

No, no, no! Not again. Not again!

The gatherer's breath caught quickly in her throat. Her pulsed raced in panic as she skidded to a frantic stop and dove behind a rock. The Ancestors' Ring was activating. Again. Again! The word pulsed horror in time with her heart, pushing fear through her veins as surely as it pushed blood. What were the demons doing!

She was trapped again. Trapped!

Cradling her precious bag, the gatherer crept sideways until she could peek around the rock and see the Ring. Another ship, identical to the first, hovered before the glowing pool.

A sob of terror whimpered its escape. She'd watched them leave. Why had they returned! Why!? It wasn't safe! The sunlight faded!

And she was an easy target. Trapped. Exposed on the grassy plain because she'd believed them gone. No cover near. Only rocks and plants. Nowhere to hide.

Had they seen her when they left? Had they waited, knowing she'd leave the forest's shade if she thought them gone? Cowering at the thought, the gatherer pressed her belly low into the stiff grass and wormed closer to the lichen-smeared stone. Brittle patches crumbled against her cheek. Tears of despair burned her eyes.

In her blurry gaze, the white-haired demon's ship slowly turned. Turned. Kept turning. Its glyph-inscribed nose pointed her way.

The gatherer's eyes squeezed shut. Not here. Only grass. Pebbles. Insects. No one of interest. No prey. No food. Keep turning.

The humm of the ship's passage leadened the air, pressing down upon her until she thought her ears would burst. Then, unexpectedly…

…it lightened.

The gatherer gasped and sat up. With disbelieving relief, she turned and saw it. The ship. Flying up, towards the trees. It had not passed directly above, but to one side, and it wasn't coming back for her. Not yet.

She was safe. Another chance to survive.

Hastily the gatherer pushed herself up and flung clumsily forward, tripping and stumbling, barely managing to prevent her fragile cargo from swinging into rocks. If she survived, she'd find this spot again one day and bless it for saving her.

She raced through the grass, panicked breathing echoing harshly in her ears. The Ring loomed in the distance, out of reach on its hill. She MUST get there. Faster! Legs burning, the gatherer doubled her efforts. Her side screamed protest. She mustn't stop. The white-haired demons would return, but she couldn't predict when, and sunset was close. So close. Waiting for their departure was suicide.

The tall grass rustled around her, rippling the gatherer's frantic path through the rocky field for all to see. Clearly visible. A dark speck traversing a sea of yellow. So horribly exposed, she shuddered at the thought of viewing herself from above. Like demons could. They'd find her easily if they turned back now.

She hadn't much time.

She mustn't be here when they returned!

**01:13:07 until sunset…**

Frowning at the lengthening shadows slowly creeping down the debris-strewn ridge to engulf the base's entrance, Major Sheppard stepped to one side of the gaping hole and tapped his radio. "Sheppard here. Go ahead, Rodney."

As his radio crackled to life, Lieutenant Ford and Private Sheere emerged beside him walking sideways, laden with the lower half of the console. The fasteners on the unsealed tubes' tourniquets swayed and clinked, knocking together with each step.

"I'm in Jumper five, with Marcum and Stackhouse. They made the switch."

Hello obvious. "Good. So you're NOT on foot."

McKay's confusion was audible. "Why would—Nevermind. The winch I installed is ready to go. We're on our way to your location."

"Don't take any detours, now."

"Funny—OW! Watch what you're doing!"

Wincing at the exclamation, Sheppard glanced uneasily at the sky as the sounds of a commotion filtered into his ear, "You okay up there?"

"No, I'm not Ok—Yes," McKay's change in tone told Sheppard that first bit hadn't been directed at him. "Yes, we are. It's a little bumpy up here."

That would be the lower atmosphere's turbulence. "Well, fly lower, then."

Dr. McKay snorted. "Any lower and we'll hit treeto—OOF! Fly lower! Lower!" his voice squeaked, "I don't care! Break a twig or two! Geez!"

Major Sheppard glanced at the branches above, willing the Jumper's cylindrical belly to appear, "McKay? How far away are ya?"

"'Cause Sheppard said so!"

Well, if they were over trees, they couldn't be too far. Seeing Steve and the last of his escort emerge from the base, Sheppard caught Ford's eye and pointed at a relatively clear patch of ground several meters from the ridge. "Set it there." There were slightly fewer branches above that area.

"Yes, Sir." Ford and the three marines helping him maneuvered the heavy console to the space he'd indicated. The battered pedestal sank deeply into the claw-churned earth as they gently tipped it. "Easy does it…"

Surrounded by his diminished escort, Steve hissed warningly and barked, "Careful, humans. The seals are fragile."

Focused on the dangling ends of organic vessels by his hand, Lieutenant Ford nodded. "Don't worry, I got it. We're not going all the way."

Another hiss. Steve narrowed his eyes in displeasure, watching Ford's awkward protection of the seals like a hawk. "It should not be set down."

"Yeah, well," the Lieutenant's shoulder lifted in a half-shrug, "Next time you can carry it."

A derisive snort. "To do so would not be a burden to me."

"Take it up with the Major, then."

Not interested in being drawn into an argument just now, Sheppard grimaced. "Alright, knock it off." Not waiting to see if they listened, he tapped his radio again. "Sheppard to McKay. Got an ETA?"

"Yes, YES, we do," McKay still sounded agitated, "Less than a minute."

Excellent. "We're on schedule," Sheppard glanced at the console. Lieutenant Ford had it balanced in the loam at a forty-five degree angle. Private Sheere knelt by his feet, dutifully keeping the three seals clean. "Already waiting for ya."

"In that case, you should be able to see us right about… Now!"

Right on cue, Jumper Five's metallic nose drifted into view between a pair of swaying branches. Coming up beside Sheppard, Teyla let her P-90 drift lazily in a waiting position as she lifted her face to the ship. "I will not regret leaving this place."

"Me neither," Sheppard offered, glancing her way.

Teyla caught his eye seriously for a moment, "We came here very late. None of my people would dare venturing to this world during this hour."

Resisting the urge to point out that Teyla's people didn't have jumpers, Major Sheppard found himself unwillingly picturing monstrous predators strong enough to create the huge gashes in the rocks and trees they'd seen. He frowned, "Well, don't worry. I don't plan on coming back at this hour. Ever."

Teyla's chocolate eyes searched his face, weighing the Major's commitment to that statement, then swung back to the jumper. After a short pause, the Athosian's brow crinkled in delicate bemusement. "Is… Dr. McKay waving to us?"

Sheppard looked and snorted. Stackhouse had tilted Jumper five's nose down to squeeze between some branches, and McKay's silhouette was distinctly visible through the front windshield. He was, indeed, waving. "Rodney really should be sitting down," Sheppard muttered. The inertial dampeners were good, but they had their limits.

"Maybe he is counting on the branches holding the ship steady for him," suggested Teyla.

"Maybe." Sheppard highly doubted it, though. Given the recent complaints, it was more likely the physicist's ego being counted on. As they watched, McKay's silhouette vanished into the rear compartment. A second later, Jumper Five's nose pulled sharply back to level, cutting off the view of its interior. Ever so slowly, the silvery ship began to rotate in place, positioning its rear hatch above them.

The Major tapped his radio. "Lookin' good, Stackhouse."

The Jumper stopped turning as Marcum replied, "We'll be glad when you're up here, Sir." A hydrolic hiss followed by low whirring filtered down through the leaves as the hatch's seal released. Twigs and branches cracked as its ramp lowered, raining vegetative debris down through the canopy.

Shielding his eyes from the plummeting foliage, Major Sheppard sidestepped out of range as a particularly loud snapping exploded in the trees above them. Alarmed by the noise, Teyla quickly followed him. "What was that?"

"Just a branch, Sir. We caught an engine pod earlier."

The ramp opening must've pushed them harder into it. "Well, get those ropes down before you deforest the place!"

Dr. McKay's voice crackled in his ear, "Already on it!

A pair of snakey black ropes sailed ungracefully out from the puddle jumper's ramp, only to snag flippantly in the canopy. "Oh, for the love of…!" A stream of muttered griping assaulted the Major's ear as McKay yanked them up and tried again. Three attempts later, the thin cords finally managed to whip and slither their way to the ground. Ripped leaves and bits of twig fluttered about their dangling ends.

Ignoring the leafy drizzle, Major Sheppard moved in and grasped them, giving each cord a testing yank. The tough climbing line stretched and held.

"Okay," Gesturing for Teyla to join him, Sheppard looped a rope behind his waist and started tying knots, "I go up. Then you. Then Laris." He shot Private Laris a look to make sure she'd heard, and the young marine glanced at him with a nod. Noting the exchange, Steve scrutinized the dangling ropes distastefully before returning his critical gaze to Lieutenant Ford and the precariously tilted console.

Teyla listened attentively as Sheppard began twisting the cord into an improvised harness. "Once I take the controls, Marcum and Stackhouse can help cover Steve."

"He will come up next?"

"Yup," the Major gave a curt nod, "Three stunners above. Three below." Best they could do with four people on the terminal. (McKay didn't make the count). "After he's up, the rest of the escort follows."

Shadows played across the Athosian's hair as she inclined her face in understanding. "And then the console."

Sheppard nodded, "Then we haul it up."

"It will be crowded…"

He shrugged. For this mission's last leg, it couldn't be helped. "I prefer to think of it as getting to know my neighbors better."

A smile tugged Teyla's lips.

Finished with his last knot and loop, Major Sheppard clicked his TAC vest's carabiners onto the rope for safety and surrendered his weight to Jumper Five. The twisted cords of his harness caught and held. "Alright! Haul me up!"

In Jumper Five's rear compartment, a metallic growl filled the air as McKay threw a switch. Several stories below, Sheppard's feet lifted smoothly from the ground.

Teyla watched his boots float up, into the branches, then turned her attention to the second rope and Private Laris, who'd offered to help tie her knots.

**Meanwhile, back in the clearing…**

Almost there…! Stumbling with fatigue, the gatherer caught herself on a low rock and paused, panting to catch her breath. The hill of the Ancestor's Ring loomed above, beckoning with tantalizingly promise. Freedom. Safety. Home.

…Safety.

Adjusting the Night Glow root's bag with a quick tug, she lurched forward, upwards, tripping and slipping. Growing darkness hid pits and bumps. Shadows clutched her feet, knotting grass into ankle-grasping tangles. Night belonged to the Beasts, and the Darkness that was their herald bid her wait for them.

The gatherer refused its call. She pushed onwards. Upwards. The Ring of the Ancestors was close. So close! Almost there!

A painful cramp lanced through her side, and the gatherer cried out, but kept going. The gray shape of the altar neared. She'd rest there. Not before. And only long enough to open the portal. Hugging her side, she jogged up the slope.

Black spots were dancing along the edges of her vision when her overheated fingers finally grasped cool metal. The gatherer collapsed against the altar, panting with relief and gasping great gulps of air. One cloth-wrapped hand pressed her cramped side, urging the pain to depart as she willed the darkness dulling her eyes to retreat.

The constellations dotting the altar's surface swam before her. The gatherer stared at them in frustration, silenting ordering them to still. The first stars…

There! She selected them, and a rush of relief filled her as the familiar orange glow sprang into existence beneath her fingertips. She was here. Really here. Really doing this. Going home! With renewed confidence, the gatherer's hand darted across the altar, pressing stars. One by one the lights of home lit at her touch.

Light flared. The Ring of the Ancestors hummed.

She blinked in confusion. Blue lights flickered across her fingers where they hovered above the last stars. She had not pressed them—

NO!

Eyes widening in horror, the gatherer looked up in time to see the last star blare to life on the Ring's edge. The Ancestor's doorway geysered open.

NO! She flung herself sideways, scrambling to circle the Ring before whoever was coming saw her. Behind it was cover, but the instant it closed, she'd be visible.

Please don't look back!

A familiar, ear-splitting whine exploded above the hill as the gatherer threw herself into the grass and covered her head. Go away! Don't look back!

A second whine exploded, joining the first.

The gatherer squeezed her eyes shut and prayed as the bone-chilling sounds saturated the hills. Icy terror flooded her veins.

Above the plains, deaf to her silent pleas…

…twin shadows of Death flew into the growing Night.

**00:57:43 until sunset…**

"Watch where you're poking that!"

"Don't worry, I got it."

"No, you don—"

CRACK!

Eyes glued to the screen showing Jumper Five's position relative to M1X-347's surface, Major Sheppard winced at the splintering noise, but stayed focused on the glowing turbulence chart that overlaid his display.

"I told you…!"

"Look. You want to take over?"

A brief silence greeted Lieutenant Ford's distance-muffled comment.

"Didn't think so."

Not quite so muffled, Dr. McKay squeaked indignantly, "And what's that supposed to mean?!"

An annoyed hiss whispered through Jumper Five's rear compartment, followed by Steve's multi-tonal bark, "It is gaining momentum again."

"I see it. Don't worry."

"You keep saying that," McKay huffed musingly, "Yet you keep breaking things." A short pause. "Why's he looking at me like that?"

"Why do you think I'm looking at you like this?"

To Sheppard's relief, Teyla finally chose to intervene. "I believe, Dr. McKay, that Lieutenant Ford is doing the best he can. It is only branches that have broken so far. The console itself is unharmed."

Unharmed, of course, being a relative term. A gust of wind lit the overlay covering his display, and Major Sheppard tightened his grip on the crystal controls. "Turbulence coming!" Concentrating on the force vectors, he pictured the treetops surrounding them and willed the Jumper to compensate.

Branches and foliage scraped along the ship's sides and tapped its roof, swaying with the rising wind. Suspended forty feet below the rear ramp, the organic console caught the breeze that managed to filter through the foliage and listed slightly, like a drunkenly dragged, raggedly tattered, Frankensteinian kite.

Dangling forty feet down beside the console, Lieutenant Ford wrapped an arm around its pedestal and stuck his three-pronged stick out, trying to brace it against a nearby branch to counteract the listing. The improvised tool, (pruned from one of the trees a few minutes earlier), slipped across the bark, then lodged in a V and held.

Peering out from the Jumper's back, Dr. McKay watched as Ford's legs stretched and twisted, wresting leverage from his abdomen and harness. "I would SO break my back doing that," he muttered, grimacing.

Watching from the other side of Jumper Five's rear hatch, Teyla glanced at McKay, "Let us hope he does not do so."

Neurotically double-checking the carabiners fastening his TAC vest to the Jumper's storage rack for the hundredth time, McKay waved her off with an unconcerned, "Meh, Marines are trained for it."

From his alert position covering Steve by the winch, Private Sheere shot the physicist a dirty look. "We do NOT train for that."

An absent snort, "It's classic emergency air-lift stuff."

"'Air-lift,' as in Air-craft. That means Airforce."

"Well, it's a good thing we have an Airforce pilot," Sheppard groused. He tore his eyes from the fading turbulence on his screen long enough to steal a frustratingly uninformative glance over his shoulder. "How's it going back there?"

Crouched on the open ramp, Steve tracked the console's changing trajectory below the ship with calculating eyes. "The path is clear," he hissed.

"Good," Sheppard nodded, "You've got some calm, McKay. Get her up."

"On it!" McKay signaled Private Marcum, who manned the winch. The marine quickly released the emergency stop, which they'd activated so Ford could control the console's swinging. With a growling whirr, the tire-sized spools began to turn, slowly reeling the computer in like an unwieldy fish. Attached to the secondary spool, Lieutenant Ford kicked from branch to branch as he rose, alternately extending his stick as a prod and holding it out like a shield to protect the exposed seals and tubes of the pedestal's base. Displaced twigs and swathes of foliage slapped at Ford's body and scrabbled along the console's chitin shell as they squeezed upwards.

"Thirty feet left," Dr. McKay announced.

"A large obstruction approaches," Steve barked, "You must slow their ascent!"

"I can handle it," Ford called.

Torn between Ford's claim and the wraith's assessment, Dr. McKay peered indecisively into the growing gloom, trying to judge the distances.

Spotting the problem, (a large branch that looked much closer to Jumper Five than it actually was), Teyla abruptly straightened. "The prisoner is right," she signaled Marcum, who reached for the brake again.

"Too late!" Launching himself up with a rattling hiss, the wraith grabbed the line that led to the pulley McKay had installed above the hatchway and used it to support his weight as he leaned out over the deadly drop. His black-gloved hand snagged the console's rope and yanked, setting a slowly swelling pendulum motion into effect.

"What are you—Oh, Shit!" Ford scrambled to wedge himself and his stick between the console and the swiftly approaching branch. The tough wood, which had seemed flexible a second earlier, refused to yield when he pushed it.

"Let go of the rope!" McKay squeaked.

"Not yet!" Steve barked. His pale face snapped towards Sheere, who'd grabbed hold of the storage rack when he moved. "Do not touch that!"

For an instant Private Sheere froze, his fingers just iches from the line that tethered the wraith's waist to the ship. With a glare, he started moving again.

"I'm okay! We're okay!" Spitting leaves, Lieutenant Ford unplastered himself from the console and fended the twigs away from its base. The computer had altered course, its new trajectory swinging it slightly under the ship. The full brunt of impact had been avoided. "Man, now I know how being hit by a windshield wiper feels."

"Stop, stop, stop!" McKay gestured frustratedly at Marcum, who threw the brake again. "We've got swing to correct."

"Get back in the ship!" Sheere gave Steve's rope a warning tug.

With a disdainful sniff, Steve reversed his yank into a push and used the resulting force to propel him back to a stable, upright position. Releasing the rope, he smoothed his coat while regarding Sheere with undisguised disgust.

Below Jumper Five, the speed of the terminal's swinging noticably slowed.

"We would be done by now if I had been allowed to assist."

"Well, you weren't," Sheppard called. Having the wraith dangling below the ship with miles of forest to hide in if he decided to slice the rope and bolt was NOT an approved prisoner handling technique. A haughty, exasperated chuff protested his reminder, but Sheppard ignored it. "What's left, McKay?"

Rodney eyed the markings on the winch's rope, "Twenty feet, give or take an inch."

Almost three quarters done, "Good. Let's wrap this u—"

"WRAITH!" Teyla's urgent shout shattered the crowded chaos of Jumper Five's rear compartment as she launched herself from the hatchway, lunging towards Private Sheere and the winch. As the Athosian snatched the pistol stunner from his startled grasp, Steve rose from his newly resumed, crouching vigil and turned, drawing breath to speak while fixing Teyla with a look of perplexed annoyance.

"What—" With a startled chuff, the wraith's eyes widened and shot up, tracking astonishment across the ceiling. As his face lifted to follow, Teyla jerked the stunner up, and a bolt of blueish-white energy exploded from its silvery muzzle, striking Steve in the chest, outlining his dark form with a nimbus of crackling, disruptive radiance. The wraith's body tensed, then toppled, clattering onto the open ramp in a stiff collapse.

As Private Sheere scrambled for Steve's tether, Teyla stepped over the wraith's legs and sent a second energy bolt whizzing into him. Watching to make sure his disoriented gaze lapsed into unconsciousness, she then whirled to face the pilot compartment. "Major Sheppard!" she yelled, "They are coming!"

Swearing a mental blue streak, Major Sheppard stared at the pair of incoming dots that'd appeared on his screen with consternation. This was NOT happening! "Get Lieutenant Ford up here!" With a thought, he activated the Jumper's shield.

"What about the console?" McKay called.

"Forget the console!" Ford was a sitting duck, "We'll reel it in later!"

"But the branches—"

"I know!" They might have to cut their loses, "Sheere! Laris! Secure our prisoner!" Shit, shit, SHIT! The darts were flying straight at them.

"The prisoner is unconscious," Teyla called.

"Good!"

Lashing Steve's limp wrists behind his back, Sheere tugged him roughly off the ramp and helped Laris lock him to the starboard bench. As the nearest escort marines knelt to assist, a few feet away Marcum released the brake on Ford's line.

As the powerful winch reeled him in, Ford's startled voice preceded him into the jumper, "Whoa! Slow, slow—tree! Face—Mmffl!" Thwack! Slap! "Phffahhh! Ick!" The Lieutenant's hands shot into view at the ramp's edge, and two marines grabbed his arms and hauled him onboard while Marcum killed the power behind them.

Scrambling to his feet, Ford took in the wraith's stunned form and glanced towards the pilot seats with a confused, "What'd I miss?"

"We've got incoming!" Sheppard barked.

"But the computer's still—"

"I know!"

McKay grabbed Ford's arm, "Did you stop the swing?"

"Yeah, but," Frowning at McKay's hand, Ford looked at Sheppard again, "There's too many branches. It'll get caught."

Focused on the incoming dots, the Major shrugged dismissively, "Can't get caught if we don't move."

Dr. McKay turned to Sheppard in alarm, "Why won't we move!?'"

Nodding at Stackhouse in the co-pilot's seat, Sheppard activated the Jumper's silent-running mode. "'Cause they'll see us."

"Then make us invisible!" McKay squeaked.

"We ARE invisible!"

"Then why—"

Sheppard cut him off with a hard stare, "The darts are using our flight path. They're gonna pass directly overhead. If we leave now—"

"They'll see the displaced branches," McKay finished in dismay. "Not to mention the computer dangling—" Fumbling for the port bench, he plopped onto it with a shocked, "—Oh God, why now?"

"That's exactly," continued Sheppard, "what I want to know. Now get up here and take some readings."

"Right, right…" Scrambling for his datapad, Dr. McKay lurched up again and squeezed between the winch and the blockade of knees lining the walls. As he hooked his pad's crystal probe into the puddle jumper's sensor displays, Stackhouse scooted out of the co-pilot's seat to make room. "Anything in particular you want?"

"Signals, power fluctuations." McKay's fingers were already typing as Major Sheppard fixed the incoming glowing dots with a glare of grim determination. "…Anything that might've called them here."

**Meanwhile, back in the clearing…**

The blue light filtering through the grass flickered then vanished with a sucking Fwoomp! The gatherer trembled in fear. The portal was closed. Her cover, gone.

But the terrifying whine continued to fade.

The demons weren't staying!

Answered prayers freezing in her throat, the gatherer whipped her hands to the earth and rolled to one side, frantically darting her gaze across the sky and the surrounding hilltop. Grass waved in a rising breeze. The sun dipped into the forest.

Against that brilliant, sinking orb, the demons' silhouettes shrank with distance.

She was alone! Launching herself up, the gatherer flung herself through the Ring and raced for the altar. No waiting! Enough hiding! She'd used three lifetimes of luck.

Her hands flew across the altar's buttons, depressing home's familiar constellations with cloth-muffled pats and slaps. She was leaving. Now. And never would she come to the Night Beast world this late again! It wasn't worth it!

Even a Night Glow Root as large as the one she carried…

The last constellation flared at her touch, and the gatherer grabbed the altar's dome with desperate relief. The stars framing the Ancestor's Ring blazed to life, showering her with blue light. For half a second, she bathed in its promised safety, allowing the idea of survival to flourish under its radiance. Then the portal opened.

Barely waiting for the deadly geyser to subside, the gatherer pushed herself from the altar and ran, relief singing through her blood and in her thoughts.

She lived. She lived!

Hope buoyed her steps. She'd seen a demon and its worshipers. Yet she lived. She'd seen their deadly ships up close. Yet she lived.

Yes, she lived. And after she delivered her precious cargo to her mate—

The cool ripple of illusory water engulfed the gatherer's hand as it reached before her into the Ancestor's doorway.

—She would speak of what she'd seen.

The gatherer's slim form vanished into the rippling light, and with a loud Fwoomp! the doorway closed once more.

Silence descended upon the deserted hilltop.

**00:53:32 until sunset…**

"There's nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," McKay confirmed. The physicist's gaze jumped determinedly across the jumper's sensor displays as his fingers darted over the charts and graphs on his datapad. "The base is dormant. No power readings."

"And the terminal—"

"Dead as a doornail."

Except for the brain stuff. Concentrating on keeping Jumper Five perfectly still, Sheppard started to protest. "But the neur—"

McKay cut him off. "Don't bother," he gestured vaguely at the walls without looking up, "Even the trees have stronger life signs."

That was good. "They're masking it."

"Yes.

"So, we're safe," Sheppard pressed.

"I just said—" with a hushed sigh, Dr. McKay stopped long enough to roll his eyes long-sufferingly, "Yes. We're safe." Glancing into the rear compartment, which was full of tense marines and unconscious wraith, he paused and frowned. "Relatively speaking." Abruptly refocusing, he shook his head dismissively, "My point is, if something gives us away, it won't be a power reading."

"Right…" A barrage of turbulence lit the screen and Major Sheppard quickly double-checked the shape of the branch pocket he'd wedged their ride into. Careful, careful… Move with the trees. Don't get hit. Hitting meant 'non-wind created movement,' and 'non-wind created movement' was suspicious.

"Nobody here but us chickens…" he murmured.

Having moved to the passenger seat behind him, Teyla lifted her eyes ceilingward and whispered, "I would ask what a chicken is, but I am more concerned with what we're hiding from." As if punctuating her statement, the mosquito whine of dart engines, which'd permeated the jumper during the last few minutes, rose sharply in volume as one of the wraith ships buzzed the base again. Widening slightly, her dark eyes swept worriedly to Major Sheppard, "You are sure they can't see us?"

He shot her a brief, but reassuring, half-smile, "Pretty sure."

"This jumper's invisible," Dr. McKay stated, "and the computer's obscured by four stories of dense foliage. Not to mention the light's fad—" frowning, he raised his voice abruptly, "They're scanning again."

"Scanning the base," Sheppard clarified.

"Yes."

"And they won't see us," Teyla prodded.

"More like can't," McKay absently elaborated. His fingers darted across the datapad, "The jumper's invisibility shield has a dampening effect on all power sources contained within it—"

"NOT that we shouldn't maintain radio silence," Sheppard added.

"—So even if they did manage, by some miraculous coincidence, to successfully scan us, they wouldn't get anything."

"But the computer—"

McKay cut Teyla off with an impatient, "It's outside the shield, yes, but it's powerless. Worse case scenario, it shows up as an abnormally large pine cone."

"Which would be impressive, considering the trees are all deciduous."

Confused for an instant, Rodney glanced up, "What?"

The Major played innocent.

Understanding dawned. "Oh. Funny. Har har. I am SO not laughing."

As McKay shot Sheppard a dirty look, Lieutenant Ford, who was keeping watch at the rear hatch, glanced down along the rope into the concealing chaos of waving greenery and muttered, "That's some pine cone."

Filtering in through the surrounding leaves, the whine of the darts' engines abruptly increased as the second ship came about to follow the first. The threatening sound built and swelled, vibrating through Jumper Five's metal walls. Shoulders and backs stiffened as renewed tension crackled through the security escort.

"Whoa, Shhh! Shush!" Dr. McKay's arm shot up, clumsily signaling for silence. The dim flutter of reflected light glimmered weakly into the open hatch. "It's not scanning. The energy's—"

Teyla's hand clapped over his mouth, stifling his report.

McKay's blue eyes stared at her indignantly, then widened with fear as she inclined her head towards the viewscreen where Sheppard had called a new display up.

Against the calming ocean of Jumper Five's azure sensor backdrop, a pair of brilliant life signs glimmered.

Two wraith… Standing in the forest beneath them.

**Meanwhile, back on Atlantis…**

Trying not to think about how the away team was fast approaching their first check-in, Dr. Weir clasped her hands together and refocused on the report lying on her desk. "You're sure about this?"

The slightly portly, blue-clad scientist sitting across from her nodded. "Absolutely. I ran it twice, just to make sure. That's why it's late."

Dr. Weir let a perplexed frown tug at her lips, "So, it's the same, then."

"Aside from the one variance, yes. Exactly."

But that meant… With a shake of her head, Dr. Weir replaced her frown with a professionally ambiguous eyebrow raise and gave Dr. Bingman a grateful smile. "Thank you, Patricia. You've given me a lot to think about."

The perpetually disheveled chemist beamed, "You are most welcome, Dr. Weir."

"And I want you to know, I appreciate your coming to deliver the report yourself."

A happy shrug, "It was the least I could do after delaying for more tests." Absently mussing her dirty-blonde curls, Dr. Bingman stood with a bounce and headed with a jaunty step for the door. "If you need anything else, I'll be in the infirmary, helping Beckett mix the new compounds that wraith ordered."

"I'll let you know if I do," rising politely, Dr. Weir moved around her desk and saw Dr. Bingham out. "Please keep up your good work."

As her office door closed behind the excited chemist, Dr. Weir retrieved the analysis of the Xex tube's liquid contents and leafed through it again. Her gaze slid thoughtfully across the graphs and points of interest Bingham had highlighted, before finally coming to rest on a spike that conspicuously deviated from the line beneath it.

Aside from the variance…

"What is our involuntary guest playing at…" she murmured.

Tapping her earpiece, Dr. Weir drifted towards her office's glass wall and looked out over Atlantis's Gateroom while she spoke. "Carson, this is Weir."

"Beckett 'ere. Wha' can ah do for ye, Elizabeth?"

"I have the results of Dr. Bingman's analysis of that liquid."

Several floors down, in the infirmary, Dr. Beckett paused his double-checking of the instruments needed for the neural filament seed's extraction and focused on his radio with interest. "'An' wha' did the chemistry lass find?"

Weir's gaze traveled over the Stargate with bemusement, "It's an exact match to our hard-drive's nutrient bath."

Brows lifting, Beckett laid a scalpel back in its tray, "Exact, ye say?"

"Down to the unique fingerprints of individual compounds."

"But tha' means 'e—"

Elizabeth's chin lifted, "Swiped it while he was mixing it. Yes." One more thing their prisoner had smuggled into his cell…

Dr. Beckett turned towards the nearby nutrient tanks and eyed the serenely floating hard-drive speculatively. "Well, tha' fluid's 'armless."

"I'm aware." It wasn't water from the shower, but from what Dr. Weir understood, it might as well be…

Carson thought for a moment, then brightened, "At tha' point, Steve 'ad just acquired those flowers. Wha' if e' swiped it for 'em?"

Dr. Weir frowned, "What do you mean?"

Beckett shrugged, "Tha' fluid is designed to sustain life. It's an all-purpose nutrient bath. Plant cells, or animal, it can sustain both."

"You're saying, he took it specifically to keep the flowers alive?"

"Ah cannot think o' a better solution for puttin' me Mum's posies in. It'd keep 'em alive fer a month. Maybe even indefinitely."

Mulling that over, Dr. Weir moved away from the glass wall and walked back to her desk. "There was one minor discrepancy in Bingman's analysis."

As Dr. Weir lifted Bingman's report again, Dr. Beckett turned back to his instrument tray, intrigued. "An' wha's tha'?"

"The Xex compound is higher than it should be."

"'E did use the Xex tube for the vase…" Carson shook his head, puzzled. The compound was water-soluble. "'Ow much 'igher?"

"More than ten times higher," Weir stated. She scanned the incriminating spike again, "Between twelve and eleven."

"Tha' makes no sense," Carson frowned, "'E 'ad plenty o' time to rinse tha' tube out. Why would'nae 'e?"

"I was hoping you could help answer that," Dr. Weir's unseen smile was wry.

"Well, tha' Xex compound is basically inert. A 'armless trace element. In larger amounts, it should'nae affect anythin' much."

Promising… "And our guest knew that?"

"Undoubtably," confirmed Carson.

"I suppose," Weir continued, extrapolating along his line of reasoning, "that would bring the lack of rinsing down to laziness on his part."

Eyeing his tray, Dr. Beckett paused with a renewed frown, "Ah suppose tha' would."

"And that's…" she trailed off, prodding grimly with silence.

Beckett got the picture almost instantly. "Not like 'im at all. Ah get ye. Everythin' ah've observed about our guest says e's precise an' methodical."

"Which means," Weir offered, "he's either deliberately trying to confuse us—"

"Or 'e's expectin' the Xex to do somethin'," Carson finished.

"My thoughts exactly." Closing Bingman's report, Elizabeth let it slip onto her desk, then turned and propped her hip against the sturdy surface. She folded her arms, asking, "In your opinion, which do you think it is?"

"Ye want my opinion?"

"Yes. You've expressed some strong ones recently. I value them."

"Oh. Well, in tha' case…" Adjusting his lab coat, Carson thought quietly for a moment. Then… "Given our recent discussions, the inert nature o' Xex, an' our guest's recent activities, Ah think 'e's tryin' to confuse us. E' wants a reaction. Every li'le thin' we do tells 'im somethin'. Changin' the Xex is an unknown variable. E' wants to see 'ow we 'andle it. If we ask 'im about it. If we don' ask. Both tell 'im somethin'."

"So he's playing mind games with us."

"Beggin' yer pardon, Elizabeth, but e's been doin' tha' ever since 'e first got 'ere."

"Believe me, I know." The wraith WAS a mind game. Sighing mentally, Dr. Weir made a decision. "Alright. Thank you, Doctor. You've been most helpful."

Recognizing the dismissal in her tone, Dr. Beckett reached for the next instruments on his tray and started double-checking again. "Glad to be o' service."

"Weir out."

Tapping her radio off, Atlantis's expedition leader rubbed her chin thoughtfully before tapping it on again.

"Sergeant Bates, this is Dr. Weir."

"Bates here. What can I do for you, Ma'am?"

"You're in the Chemistry lab, right?" After Jumper Five left, he'd taken over guarding the wraith's contraband.

"Yes, Ma'am. Dr. Bingman left to deliver her report a while ago."

"I got it."

"I see." When Weir didn't reply immediately, Bates asked, "Shall I dispose of the Xex tube, Ma'am?"

The Security Chief would love getting a, 'yes,' to that. She could tell. "No. Put it back in the cell." If the wraith wanted to play mind games, Atlantis could play, too. "And Sergeant?"

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"Major Sheppard had Lieutenant Geerman put a mark on the floor."

"He did," Bates confirmed, "We can put the tube back so the prisoner never knows it went missing."

Staring unseeingly at her office door, Dr. Weir's eyes narrowed with determination. "That won't be necessary. Take the mark up. Put the Xex tube as far away from it as possible."

"Ma'am?"

Steel entered Weir's voice. "I want him to know we moved it."

"Yes, Ma'am." Regarding the twinkling Xex tube with a grim half-smirk, Sergeant Bates yanked off the gloves he'd used to mask his scent earlier and reclaimed the sparkling mini-vase with an air of detached professionalism.

**00:52:49 until sunset…**

Flashing the handsign equivalent of, "Shut up as if your life depends on it, because it does," Major Sheppard studied the deadly glowing lifesigns with an ambivalent grimace. Apparently darts could drop people off as easily as they sucked people up. AND they didn't have to park for it.

Good to know… Too bad they hadn't discovered it under more favorable circumstances. Silence had just become their greatest ally.

That and the prevailing winds…

Shooting a suspicious glance over his shoulder at their prisoner's motionless form, Major Sheppard double-checked the Jumper's weather readouts. The base was upwind. Good. Even at ground level, their scent would be carried away from Steve's bloodhound relatives. Assuming the Jumper's shield didn't block it already.

Okay, smell wasn't an issue, then.

Unless they'd leaked a trail of the stinky pink stuff Steve had smelled from OUTSIDE the base.

…

No point worrying about that now. They'd know sooner or later.

What WAS worth worrying about was how these new wraith would react to finding an entire computer missing. The gaping hole and muck pool in the center of the floor wasn't easy to miss. And if the goons they'd sent to investigate were half as perceptive as Steve, they'd be able to tell that some wounds were recent.

On the other hand, if they were as averse to touching 'Death' as Atlantis's captive, they might not stick their hands in the goo to find the surgically sliced tentacles. (The stagnant stuff was decidedly less inviting than last time.) On the surface, the console's removal looked anything but precise. Steve had torn the floor up in uneven chunks, using brute strength to save time, just like the beasts. If they were lucky, the wraith would see the carnage and assume the beasts made off with the living console because it was the only thing left in the place that smelled tasty.

The sudden image of a giant, saber-toothed space dog burying the organic pedestal like a bone invaded Sheppard's mind, and he suppressed a snort.

That was NOT an appropriate reaction. Focus!

…

Man, but Sheppard hated waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop…

Breathless suspense thickened the air in Jumper Five as Major Sheppard and the extraction team watched the wraith dots pace across the forest floor towards the ravaged base. As they reached the dug-up entrance, the sinister lights paused. As they did, the scratching of twigs across metal whispered into the ship.

Damn! Switching to the turbulence readout, Sheppard quickly compensated for the drift, then flipped back to the lifesigns.

They were moving deeper into the base.

Phew. The Major mentally cursed himself. That'd been careless. They couldn't afford mistakes. If the wraith heard them…

He WASN'T interested in cleaning up that mess.

A warning red glow appeared in the upper left corner of the viewscreen. Icy apprehension flooded Sheppard's veins. A countdown. Three digits and a blinking colon. Deliberately repressing the sinking horror trying to take root in his gut, the Major looked towards Rodney in the co-pilot's seat.

Dr. McKay's expression mirrored Sheppard's growing dread. His gaze met Sheppard's anxiously, blue eyes widening with unvoiced panic.

Less than a minute until they were due back.

Less than a minute until Atlantis started wondering what was up.

Less than a minute until Elizabeth dialed in and unwittingly blew their cover by asking for a status report.

Breaking away from Rodney's gaze before his own anxiety became visible, Sheppard double-checked the turbulence chart and surveyed the rest of the jumper. Lieutenant Ford stood sentinel at the hatch, gripping the line and thumbing his TAC knife, ready to slash the console free. An arm's-length away, Teyla aimed Sheere's stunner at Steve's head, prepared to shoot the instant she sensed signs of recovery.

Both held their poses in complete and utter silence.

Both watched him, trusting him to keep them safe by making the right call. As did everyone else in the ship. Twelve pairs of questioning eyes waiting for orders, quietly trusting Sheppard to get everyone out of this mess.

Racking his brain for anything that could get them out of this safely other than waiting, (there really WAS no better option than stealth), Major Sheppard frowned and turned back to the viewscreen just in time to see the countdown hit zero.

A soft, quickly smothered squeak escaped from the co-pilot's seat.

As the three red digits began flashing an ominous lightshow across his face, Sheppard gripped Jumper Five's controls and prepared to fly. Playing out various scenarios in his head, he silently willed Dr. Weir and Sergeant Bates to give them time.

**Meanwhile, back on Atlantis…**

"Shall I dial M1X-347?"

In the upper level of the Gate Room, Dr. Weir thumbed her chin thoughtfully as she paced a slow, apprehensive circle behind Atlantis's DHD console. The extraction team was overdue.

"Dr. Weir?" Peter Grodin glanced at her quizzically.

The expedition leader frowned. Normal operating procedure didn't apply. This mission's timeline was too tight.

Standing by the railing, Sergeant Bates watched Dr. Weir pacing behind Grodin's chair with a steely gaze, "Ma'am, the away team is overdue."

"I'm aware, Sergeant." Not stopping her pacing, Weir glanced at him disapprovingly. Bates had argued for immediate mission termination after the one-hour mark. Sheppard had wanted status reports and re-evaluation.

In the interest of a timely departure, a concrete compromise on the issue had been neglected. That decision was left to Weir's discretion. And she fully intended to exercise it. She'd had an hour to consider their options.

Stopping her pacing, Dr. Weir faced her Security Chief. "Prep Jumper Three again. Put a team on standby and wait for my signal."

"Yes, Ma'am." Sergeant Bates tapped his earpiece to give the order, then looked skeptically at Weir, taking in her determined expression with concern. "May I ask if we're going after them?"

Quirking an eyebrow at the unsubtle questioning of her judgement, Dr. Weir turned back to the Stargate, "You may, Sergeant. And the answer is, not yet."

"But, Ma'am—"

"They have ten minutes."

Frowning slightly, Bates shook his head, "With all due respect—"

Cutting him off with a warning stare, Weir laid a hand on Grodin's chair and looked back at the Gate. "If Sheppard ran into beast trouble, the best thing we can do is to keep their escape route clear. With the Jumper's shield, they can hide indefinitely, but the atmosphere's turbulence prevents them from taking refuge in the sky. Plus, M1X-347's Stargate is exposed on a hill. If they make a run for the Gate and we cut them off by dialing in first, they could be left at the mercy of whatever's chasing them."

"And if it's not beasts," Bates challenged, "If it's prisoner trouble—"

"That's what Jumper Three's for." Catching the Security Chief's eye, Dr. Weir gave him a look that clearly said the subject was no longer open for discussion. "Ten minutes, Sergeant. That's all I want. Then we fly to the rescue."

Acknowledging her logic, Bates acquiesced with a grudging nod. "Yes, Ma'am."

**00:44:37 until sunset…**

The wraith were leaving! Staring at the viewscreen as if he could manipulate the intruders, Sheppard fiercely willed the idly drifting dots to quicken their exit.

"C'mon you bastards," he muttered, "get outta there."

In the co-pilot's seat, Dr. McKay flinched at his words. They were the first that'd been spoken since he flashed the quiet signal.

"C'mon…"

Flinching again, McKay leaned towards the pilot's seat and whisper-hissed, "I don't think muttering at them's gonna help us."

"Yeah, well, it's helping me," Sheppard whispered back. Shooting the flustered scientist a glance, he sighed and reluctantly quieted. McKay was right. Once the wraith got outside, silence became golden again.

But, dammit, they weren't outside yet! He glared accusingly at the lifesigns. According to the Jumper's timer, which had started a negative count after the angry zeros expired, the wraith had been milling about in the base for eight minutes. Sheppard could see Elizabeth giving them a fiver cushion. He could see her giving a ten.

Fifteen, however, was out of the question.

C'mon! Move your buggy butts!

The whine of circling darts, which'd been a constant background noise since the drop off, swelled to an abrupt crescendo, and in Jumper Five's back, the marine escort fidgeted and rechecked weapons, faces lifting with renewed alertness.

In the pilot's compartment, Major Sheppard inched forward on his seat. As if the noise were a cue, the lifesigns had ceased their lazy moseying and were making swift beelines towards the exit. They'd be outside in moments.

He shot a hand up, flashing freeze and silence signals. The soft squirming and restless rustlings that'd begun coming back ceased.

Once more, a tense stillness thickened the atmosphere. The dots were outside. The dots were together. Moving in unison. The dots…

VEEEEEMMMMOOOOUUIIIIIIINNNN! The dart that'd dropped the wraith off buzzed the base, whizzing over treetops, almost directly overhead.

…The dots were gone! Yes!

With an ear-splitting whine, the second dart wheeled in the sky behind the first and followed, zipping over the Jumper's roof and kicking up a wake of displaced branches in the canopy's wind-tossed greenery.

The Puddle Jumper bucked as the dart's close passage slammed turbulence against them, and Major Sheppard swore, struggling with the controls.

"Look, look, look!" Rodney was pointing with excitedly at the screen, which showed the wraith ships shooting like bullets for the Gate. "Going, going…"

The flash of Gate activation lit on the display, and the pulsing icons representing the enemy ships vanished. An instant later, the Gate activation blinked off.

"GONE!" yelped Dr. McKay, "Yes! We can go, now, right?"

Annoyed by the hopeful statement of the obvious, Sheppard snapped, "I still wanna know why they came here in the first place."

"Who cares! Just get us out of here!"

"It's not that easy. We've still got a computer dangling from our—"

Ford cut him off. "Do you want me to cut it loose, Sir?"

"NO!" Like Hell was Sheppard leaving the thing after going through that. "We're taking it. Get it up here."

"But the predators," McKay pressed, "We've barely forty minutes left."

Lieutenant Ford was already lowering himself out the back. "There's one last tangle of branches. Then we're clear."

"Nocturnal means active at night. Not 'automatically wakes up when the sun hits the horizon!' What if some of them are early risers?!"

"We're in a flying machine, Rodney."

"What if they can jump?!"

"Then I'll dodge them!" Sheppard shot McKay an exasperated glance, "If you're that worried, you can start scanning for over-sized life signs."

"Over-sized lifesigns. Right." With a new task to focus on, Dr. McKay zeroed in on his datapad with almost disturbingly sudden, hyper-focused silence.

"Teyla, how's Steve?"

"The prisoner is still unconscious," Teyla reported, glancing up from the unconscious wraith. "Sheere and I have seen no signs of recovery."

Maximizing the turbulence display, Sheppard nodded. That was expected. They'd stunned Steve enough early on to have a good idea of how long it'd take him to wake up. "We've got time there." With any luck, the wraith would revive in the infirmary, just in time to help Beckett with the extraction.

The whining humm of Marcum restarting the winch filled the jumper, and a few seconds later the sound of breaking branches began filtering up from beneath them.

Concentrating on holding them steady, Major Sheppard frowned.

"I don't suppose anyone thought to pack tree trimmers in this ship?"

**Back on Atlantis…**

"Unscheduled off-world activation! It's Sheppard's IDC!"

Standing vigil at the balcony, Dr. Weir closed her eyes with relief and, for the first time since the Major had radioed in, allowed herself to smile. "Lower the shield."

"Lowering shield now." Dr. Grodin reached across the Ancient controls, and in the Gate room below, the iridescent field blocking the Stargate flickered out of existence.

"Shield lowered," Grodin announced, "Major, you are clear to enter."

A few seconds later, the cylindrical shape of Jumper Five emerged from the glistening blue energy pool and slowly rotated its rear hatch towards the balcony. Half a dozen marines jumped from the open ramp—Open!?

Dr. Weir lifted an eyebrow in surprise as the soldiers, who were supposedly the prisoner's escort, caught the computer dangling from the hatch's recently-installed ceiling pulley and carefully lowered it until it was cradled horizontally in their arms. As they did, the Puddle Jumper finished its descent and another pair, who looked suspiciously like Marcum and Stackhouse, jogged out to unwind the black ropes tethering it to the winch. As soon as the computer was free, all eight marines hefted its organic carapace and began carrying it to the infirmary, looking for all the world like a ceremonial military guard escorting a funerary coffin.

Heading briskly for the stairs, the expedition leader narrowed her eyes suspiciously as Dr. McKay jogged out of the jumper after the procession, followed by Teyla, who slowly back out while keeping a stunner aimed into the ship.

Clearly Sheppard had neglected to mention some of the details of the circumstances surrounding the 'laying low' they'd been doing.

"We need a stretcher, here!"

"Why do you need a stretcher," Weir demanded. Reaching the landing, she jogged down the last flight of stairs and met Sheppard as he came down the ramp.

"Steve's unconscious," Sheppard offhandedly replied.

That had NOT been in the status report. As the sound of squeaking wheels approached, Weir's eyes widened with accusing indignation, "And why is he unconscious, Major?"

Moving aside for the gurney to wheel between them, Sheppard had the good graces, at least, to look guilty. "We kinda had to stun him to hide from the darts."

Horror replaced the indignation in Weir's eyes, "What darts?!"

"They came to investigate the base."

"We thought you were hiding from beasts!"

"Yeah, about that…" Making a small, noncommittal 'um' sound, Major Sheppard managed to look almost, but not quite, sheepish. "I never actually said they were beasts."

"You certainly implied it."

"Would you have let us wait the extra minute to untangle the console from Ford's branch maze?"

"Of course not!" Dr. Weir glared, "They might've come back."

The Major shrugged as if her answer explained everything. "Well, I thought the risk of that happening was minimal."

"And I'd prefer if we'd made that decision together."

"There wasn't time," Sheppard gave another shrug, "besides, everything turned out fine. We're safe. The Jumper's safe. The neural filament seed's safe—"

Jerking a thumb over her shoulder, Weir cut him off with a curt, "The debriefing room. Now." Catching sight of McKay trotting down the ramp ahead of the wraith-laden gurney, she snagged her Chief Scientist with a sharp, "You too, Rodney."

"But I—"

"Carson can't do anything until the prisoner wakes up." Dr. Weir eyed the unconscious, black-clad alien pointedly as the infirmary techs and the last two remaining members of Steve's escort wheeled past. "Before that happens," she continued, "I want to know every last detail of everything that happened out there."

Turning Sheere's commandeered stunner over to the marines coming out to unload the Jumper, Teyla Emmagen pushed her caramel hair back and joined them, taking in Dr. Weir's unamused expression with a cautiously appraising eye.

"Major Sheppard…" the Athosian hesitantly observed, "has told you about the darts."

Raising an eyebrow, Dr. Weir turned on her heel and spearheaded their trip to the debriefing room. "He has."

"I have something to tell you as well," Teyla continued, following.

"Lieutenant Ford," Major Sheppard exclaimed with a slight squeak. He nonchalantly cleared his throat before adding, "We're being debriefed."

Belatedly sensing the tension outside the ship, Ford quickly unhooked his harness and shrugged out of it, then hastened down the ramp, apologetically handing off the tangled nylon to the clean-up team as he passed. "Yes, Sir."

As they all trooped up the stairs, Sheppard imprudently quipped, "We DID actually see a beast, though."

Weir was not amused. "Oh, you did, did you."

"Yeah. A couple sorta chased us towards the Gate."

**A few minutes later, in Atlantis's infirmary…**

"He's waking up."

"Oh, thank God. Ah 'aven't the foggiest idea o' wha' to do 'ere."

Breaking off his examination of the pedestal's ravaged base, Dr. Beckett tucked the seal he'd been peering at back in the hole and turned his attention to his unconscious patient. Steve's lithe form stirred as he approached, shifting blackly across the white sheets of the rolling bed that his escort had parked by the hard-drive's tanks.

"Steve," Slipping hesitantly through the wall of escort marines surrounding the wraith, Beckett edged towards the head of the cot, so he had an unobstructed view of Steve's face. "Steve, it's Carson. Can ye 'ear me?"

The pale eyelids fluttered.

"Ah need ye to wake up. The seals are startin' to leak."

A shaky hiss whispered through the infirmary, and the wraith's olive eyes blinked open and darted disorientedly about, oval pupils shrinking to pin pricks in the bright light.

"Steve," Carson pressed, "Ah need instructions."

"The female…" the breathy rasp was slurred, its diction dulled by the neuro-inhibiting effects of the stunner.

The female? Not sure he'd heard correctly, Beckett's brow wrinkled in confusion, "Ah'm sorry?"

Steve's eyes flickered unfocusedly across the room, fastening with some difficulty on the nutrient tanks. "Where is she…?"

He must be missing something. Carson caught the wraith's attention with a small wave, then waited patiently until a glimmer of recognition dawned. "Where's who?"

Not finding the gentle tone and simple question as calming as Beckett had intended, Steve hissed and jerked his arms, weakly flexing unresponsive muscles.

"The female, Teylaaaa…"

Definitely missing something. "Teyla's fine." Beckett would've known if someone was hurt. "Did somehin' 'appen to 'er?"

"Hiisssssss…!" Snarling, Steve shoved himself onto his side. Orange reflected across the crisply pressed sheets under his ebony chest as his feeding hand curled and twitched within the glove. "Where is sssshhhhheeee…?"

Not acceptable. Hardening his voice, Dr. Beckett frowned. "Teyla's where'abouts are not yer concern. Yer 'ere fer the filament seed."

A frustrated hiss split the air.

"Ah don' know wha' 'appened on tha' planet," Beckett continued, "an' right now, Ah don' care." He pointed at the hard-drive, "This is our job. If ye wan' to examine those tools wi' me, ye'll 'elp extract tha' seed. It's as simple as tha'."

"AH!" Falling back against the cot, Steve snarled again and began rhythmically tensing and relaxing the muscles in each limb, barking, "It is NOT simple!"

Recognizing the recovery tactic from when they'd been stunning the wraith regularly, early in his capture, Dr. Beckett edged back a step, towards the security perimeter, saying, "Ah'm afraid it is."

Another bloodcurdling hiss chilled the infirmary air.

Carson was decidedly unimpressed, "Ah'm gonna pretend Ah didn' 'ear tha'."

"Where is Major Sheppard," Steve growled.

"Tha's not yer concern either—"

An irate rattling cut him off. "I said nothing. Tell him, I said nothing."

Beckett blinked, "Nothin' to who?"

Steve's olive eyes skewered Carson, momentarily freezing him with their intensity. "The Otherssssss…" A multi-tonal hiss reverberated through his words, swelling and fading before rising in an earnest bark, "I shared no information!"

With a sinking feeling, Dr. Beckett glanced at the escort marines, "Wha' Others? Wha''s 'e talkin' about?"

Privates Sheere and Laris exchanged looks, both drawing breath to explain.

A desperate chuff cut them off. "There was no time!" Tensing, Steve levered himself up, almost reaching a sitting position, "Tell Sheppard… I had no time—The female!" With a gasp, he collapsed again. As the cot squeaked under the impact, Steve swiveled his face jerkily towards Beckett. "She can confirm," he panted. A frustrated snarl twisted his pale features as he tried and failed to rise again, "She musssst!"

Oh, but Carson didn't like the sound of that.

Pulling out the Athosian puzzle game that he'd sent for when he learned the wraith was stunned, Dr. Beckett handed the delicate collection of intricately carved twigs to Laris, who accepted the pieces with a quizzical frown.

"Take this." Beckett nodded towards the panting wraith, "As soon as 'e can manipulate it wi'out breakin' it, call me. Ah've got some leaks to patch."

"Yes, Sir," Laris nodded, "Understood."

Turning on his heel, Carson slipped out of the security perimeter and strode briskly for the pedestal. As he felt Steve's accusing stare follow him across the infirmary, the Scotsman silently added, 'An' some calls to make.'

**Meanwhile…**

"Let's make sure I have this straight."

Hands clasped before her, Dr. Weir rested her elbows on the debriefing room table and leaned forward, looking at her recently chastised away team with keen eyes. The disbelief in her voice was undisguised. "You're saying Teyla sensed the darts approaching BEFORE our prisoner did."

Swiveling his chair a bit, Major Sheppard nodded.

Knowing her military commander had been staring at a screen when their 'guest' was shot, Dr. Weir gave him a skeptical brow lift and directed her gaze at McKay.

Still miffed at being kept from the infirmary, Dr. McKay huffed, "I was busy helping Ford. I didn't see the whole thing."

"But you saw more than Major Sheppard," pressed Weir.

McKay snorted, "Everyone saw more than Sheppard. He was flying."

"I didn't," interrupted Lieutenant Ford. "I was dangling under the ship, stuck in branches."

"You weren't stuck—"

"Might as well have been."

Ignoring Ford's mutter, Teyla Emmagen squared her shoulders and addressed Dr. Weir. "If a corroboration is what you're looking for, you should speak with Private Sheere. He was beside me when I stunned the prisoner. He will confirm what I saw."

Weir had already decided to question Sheere. "I believe I'll do that." Nodding respectfully to show Teyla that no suspicion had been intended, she added, "In fact, after this debriefing's over, I'm going to meet with the entire security escort."

Sheppard suppressed a grimace, "Is that really necessary?"

"Yes, in this case it is."

"Since when?" McKay was fidgeting impatiently, "Why can't you just take her word for it? Social genius, I'm not. But Teyla—"

"Because he is Wraith, Rodney," Teyla interrupted.

Confused, Dr. McKay froze briefly, then stared at her, clearly baffled by her deflection of his support. Finally he blurted, "You said he looked surprised."

"He did," the Athosian quietly, but firmly, confirmed. "And, in my opinion, before he sensed the darts, he thought I was addressing him."

"But that matches what I saw!" Jumping excitedly on his point, McKay rounded in exasperation on Weir, "That's confirmation right there. We have consensus—"

"Dr. Weir is right to demand this."

"Hey, I'm defending you here!" McKay squeaked.

"You really need to pick your battles better," muttered Sheppard. In the chair beside him, Lieutenant Ford suppressed a snicker.

"I do not need defending," a note of annoyance crept into Teyla's voice, "I need certainty. And in this matter, that is something we can't have. He is Wraith."

Dr. McKay threw his hands up in defeat, "I hadn't noticed."

A moment of quiet amusement followed that comment, and Dr. Weir surveyed McKay pointedly before taking the opportunity to elaborate. "No matter how well we think we're reading our prisoner," she stated, "we can't be certain we're correct. Dr. Heightmeyer agrees with me." McKay rolled his eyes, and she raised her voice, "Which is why," Weir let her gaze land on Sheppard next, "I want as many people's opinions on this matter as possible. That includes all members of the security escort."

Major Sheppard shrugged, "Sounds good to me. I like second opinions."

As Weir's scrutiny shifted to him next, Lieutenant Ford quickly agreed. "I was dangling in trees, Ma'am. Second opinions are all I got."

"Indeed," Weir murmured.

"Dr. Weir, if I may?"

Sensing that the proverbial elephant in the room was finally going to be discussed, Dr. Weir unclasped her hands and graciously inclined her head, "By all means."

"Thank you." Leaning forward from her usual straight-backed position, Teyla rested a hand earnestly upon the table as she addressed the group, "There is something about this situation that we have neglected to discuss."

"And that is…?" McKay groused.

Teyla silenced him with a glance, "Our prisoner's reaction to my ability."

McKay's annoyed posture instantly morphed into alarm, "You think he noticed?"

As Major Sheppard swiveled his chair while affecting air of long-suffering tolerance, Teyla Emmagen closed her eyes and thought back, remembering the instant before her first stun blast struck. The tingling jerk of the stunner as their prisoner's eyes shot back to her face. Then the glowing energy bolt illuminating an expression of epiphantic understanding coupled with almost comic disbelief.

"He knows." The Athosian leader's pronouncement settled among the debriefing room's occupants like an ominous prophesy of doom. Teyla's chocolate eyes opened once more, their sparkling depths laden with sincere regret, "I must apologize. In retrospect, it may have been wiser to stun him before warning everyone. It was habit."

Sheppard leaned towards her, "You did the right thing. If I'd raised our shield a second later, they might've seen us." That wasn't empty reassurance. The Jumper would've been the only energy signal for miles.

"But I lost our advantage. He will not be surprised again."

"No, no, you can't be sure of that," McKay was shaking his head, "Like you said, he's Wraith. Wraith sense Wraith. Humans don't sense Wraith—except for you, of course—He's got no reason to suspect you weren't acting on Sheppard's signal."

As Teyla opened her mouth to object, Dr. Weir's earpiece crackled. "Dr. Weir? It's Beckett. Ah need a word wi' ye."

Sensing trouble in the doctor's tone, Weir tapped a switch and routed Beckett's signal into the gray speaker box that Grodin had recently installed in the table.

"Carson, this is Weir. You're on speaker."

Emanating from the new device, Beckett's tinny voice sounded relieved. "Oh, good. Ah can talk wi' everyone. Steve's awake, an' 'e's talkin' strange."

Weir frowned and glanced at Sheppard, "How so?"

"'E keeps askin' for Teyla an' the Major."

Wincing inwardly, Sheppard broke from her gaze with a grimace.

"'E's ignorin' the filament seed. Ah've got the leaks under control, but 'e won' 'elp. Just keeps repeatin' tha' 'e didn' share anythin'."

At Beckett's words, the members of SGA-1 looked up at each other with varying degrees of relief and surprise, and as the quiet stretched, Lieutenant Ford voiced everyone's unasked question with a whispered, "Do you think it's true?"

Who knows? Sheppard answered with a noncommittal shrug.

"Elizabeth, wha' should ah do? As neurosurgeries go, this one's shapin' into a bust."

"Don't worry, Carson. I'm coming down." Having made her decision, Dr. Weir spun her chair sideways and pushed herself to her feet. "Tell Steve that I'll be speaking with him personally."

* * *

Thank you for reading! Please review! Things I'm still working on specifically are: 1. Maintaining a Season 1 feel in the flashback chapters. 2. Keeping the regulars in character.

And 3. Making the new and different, (and/or bizarre), things that happen seem realistic and believable.

(My sincerest apologies for this year and a half delay! I'm trying my hardest not to repeat it.)


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